


if i had a boat, i would sail to you

by darlingjustdont



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: And Lots of It, Angst, Break Up, Canon Compliant, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, OH GOD IT'S FINALLY TIME, Okay okay, Secret Marriage, Secret Relationship, divorce fic, eventually, it takes a while but we get there, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2018-11-05 21:44:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 95,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11022198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingjustdont/pseuds/darlingjustdont
Summary: Nick’s never been in a relationship like this, all whirlwind but somehow one that still feelsright. That’s how it’s supposed to feel, isn’t it? Like everything’s slotting carefully into place, like Louis is just meant to be here. He wants to hold onto this feeling and never, ever let go.or, nick and louis get married and everything's good until it isn't.





	1. the breaking of the day

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO EVERYONE!! it's finally time!!! i've been working on this fic for seven months, and been thinking about it for about two years, and now it's going out into the world. i hope i've done it justice. 
> 
> there are SO SO SO MANY PEOPLE who were a part of this, who helped me through it, who kept me going when i said i didn't want to write anymore. they all can be found in this [thank you post ](http://bigbrotherlouis.tumblr.com/post/161203172349/thank-you-appreciation-post) because it's too long to have here. that being said, thank you to kate and justine for taking on the massive task of betaing, adriana for being my #1 always, even when you don't even go here anymore, and nicole for helping me come up with this au back when we were still babies and one direction was still going strong. you're all INCREDIBLE and i'm so thankful for you <3
> 
> my incredible artist danielle did the amazing [ moodboard](http://bigbrotherlouis.tumblr.com/post/161203057399/if-i-had-a-boat-i-would-sail-to-you-nicklouis) and made an incredible [playlist](http://iwasfinebeforeonedirection.tumblr.com/post/161202770071/if-i-had-a-boat-i-would-sail-to-you-by) for this fic and i'm so thankful! it's amazing and you should go check that out immediately. thank you for putting up with my sporadic messages and lateness writing this fic. 
> 
> important thing to note: i've fiddled with the ages a bit to make it a little more realistic, so 1d are all a year older when they audition and nick is a year younger. also i decided that the plot was more important than sticking to the canon so it deviates from time to time. also, for a 1d big bang fic, there's like very little 1d. sorry, it's more tomlinshaw. 
> 
> all titles are taken from james vincent mcmorrow's _if i had a boat._ i probably listened to it two hundred times while writing. 
> 
> enjoy xx

**[the breaking of the day // nick // 2009]**

 

The club is dirty, dingy, and packed to the brim with students. Not Nick’s typical DJ venue, and not exactly what he’d pictured himself doing at twenty four, but it pays the bills. Plus, they give him free drinks, and they’re not half-bad. He needs them more often than not to deal with the bratty kids that come in, getting drunk off too-sweet margaritas and whining about his carefully cultivated sets. Who fucking cares if he plays Rihanna and Ke$ha instead of Lady Gaga, you can’t dance to Lady Gaga, not really. 

But for now, he’s handed off the responsibility to someone else and slipped into the mass of dancing people, two drinks in him and a restlessness in his bones. The music just this side of too loud. Nick can feel the bass thrumming through the soles of his shoes, can feel the beat like a heaviness against his chest. 

It feels fucking _fantastic._

He works his way into the crowd, dancing with one boy and then the next, until he’s somewhere near the centre, somewhere where he doesn’t have to even _think,_ just move. The lights flashing make it feel like every moment is unconnected from the last, suspended in air entirely by itself. 

A boy slips in front of him and starts to match his dancing, edging closer until they’re pressed up against each other. Nick dances with him for a while-- a minute or an hour, Nick’s not sure but it doesn’t particularly matter. 

“I want a smoke,” he says after a particularly dirty song, more grinding than dancing. “Want to come?” 

The boy tilts his head up to look him up and down. His fringe is falling in his eyes, but Nick can still notice they’re the bluest he’s seen. After a second, the boy nods his head and curls his hand around Nick’s arm. 

“Let’s go,” he nearly yells over the music and Nick leads him out through the side door to the little alleyway behind the club. 

The boy looks a little less confident than he did inside, so Nick pulls out a packet of cigarettes and offers him one. He takes it after a moment’s hesitation, lights it with barely a blink. 

Nick takes the moment to examine him in the half-light, away from all the dancing and bodies. He’s on the smaller side, with longish hair swept across his face and a nice set of cheekbones. He’s wearing braces of all things, and a shirt that looks so soft. Not proper dancing attire, but who’s Nick to judge. 

He takes a drag on the cig and slouches back against the wall, humming to himself with his eyes closed. 

“Do you DJ because you can’t sing?” 

Opening his eyes, he glances over at the boy. He’s got his head cocked and he’s watching Nick carefully, eyes bright and keen. Nick shrugs. 

“Maybe.” 

The boy makes an unimpressed sound, a lazy grin tipping his mouth upwards. “Shame you can’t DJ either.” 

“Oi,” he says halfheartedly, but the boy’s laughing like he’s just said the cleverest thing. “That set was fucking brill.”

“You played Katy Perry, mate.” 

“And everyone loved it.”

“They’re drunk, you could put on fucking Miley Cyrus and everyone would go mental.” 

Nick huffs and neglects to mention he’d thought about sneaking “Party in the USA” in earlier. He hadn’t, because that would’ve been a bit much even for him, but it crossed his mind. 

“What’s your name, then?” 

“Louis,” he says after a moment. Nick feels a bit like he’s won something. 

“M’Nick.” 

“I know,” says Louis with a flash of a grin. “It was on the posters.” 

Nick flushes at that, hadn’t known they were going to splash his name on flyers. It’s a bit embarrassing, really, but he can’t do anything about it. 

“You looked quite fit up there on the platform, though,” Louis tells him lowly. “Like, proper fit.” 

“Are you trying to chat me up?” 

“Maybe,” he says, stepping back a bit. He sucks on the end of his cig and blows out the smoke, watching it disappear into the sky. “Is it working?” 

“The flirting? Not really. The dancing, on the other hand...” 

The corners of Louis’ mouth tug up into a smile and he looks pleased, almost. 

“It’s the trousers, isn’t it.” 

Nick laughs and drops his cigarette, stubbing it out with his toe and tucking his hands into his jacket. 

“Honestly, it’s probably the wit that makes me want to kiss you. I like that in a boy.” 

Louis _definitely_ looks pleased now, like he’s trying not to preen. The moon’s bright tonight, and it makes everything sharper and more intense. The restlessness in Nick’s bones comes back, but this time it’s to sway closer and press his lips to Louis’. He almost does, too, except Louis starts to talk again.

“Why don’t you buy me a drink first, before any kissing. Put your money where your mouth is.” 

“I can do that,” Nick replies and reaches out, tangling their fingers together. “I get them free tonight. C’mon.” 

The club is still seething when they slip back in, still thudding with music only this time there’s anticipation in the air. Nick can feel it settling on his skin, running down his arm only to spark where his hand’s clutching Louis’. It’s electric and dizzying and Nick’s maybe had too much to drink already. 

He orders something for the both of them anyway, something fruity because he likes the taste. Louis laughs when he gets his neon blue drink but he clinks the rim against Nick’s and downs it anyway. 

“What happened a good old jack and coke?” 

“Not in the mood,” Nick says with a shake of his head. “That’s for impressing people, and I don’t particularly feel like pretending to enjoy something I dislike.” 

“But _I_ like them.” 

“Then you can get the drinks next time, brat.” 

Louis laughs again, loud and full, and Nick feels a flush of warmth down to his toes. Louis’ lips are tinged blue and the club’s lights make his face look a little strange. He cocks a hip against the bar, tapping his fingers on the top. 

“Are you done for the night? Or do you still have to go up there?” He nods his head to the booth over Nick’s shoulder. 

“Suppose I could slip out if I wanted. Why?” 

Louis glances up at him through his fringe, a strange look on his face. He steps closer and pitches his voice lower. It makes Nick shiver. 

“Want to go back to yours?” 

“Forward, aren’t we?” he says with a laugh and Louis stiffens a bit. “Yeah, let’s go. Do you need to tell someone…?” 

“Nah, I’ll just text me mates on the way there.” 

“Right, you do that and I’ll get a taxi. It’s not a long ride but I don’t feel like walking.” 

Louis nods and thumbs at his phone for a few seconds. Nick takes the time to tell the bartender he’s leaving for the night. 

“See you next week?” the bartender says. Nick shrugs, waves a goodnight, and starts to make his way toward the door, an arm around Louis’ waist. 

The ride to Nick’s is quiet. Louis keeps giving him little looks, his fingers twitching on his leg. Nick reaches over and covers his hand with his own. Louis freezes. 

“Are you nervous?” he asks quietly, and Louis rolls his eyes. 

“Do I look nervous?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Fuck off,” says Louis easily, shoving Nick’s hand off his knee. “I’m going to some rando’s house, of course I’m going to be nervous.” 

“I can help with that,” Nick tells him with only a bit of a smile. Louis’ eyes go wide. 

“I’d rather wait until we’ve got a bit of privacy, thank you very much. Also, I don’t fancy a walk because we’ve been kicked out of the taxi.” 

“Mmm,” he murmurs, tracing patterns on Louis’ leg. Louis twitches. Nick traces the seam up farther, slow and gentle movements that end just high enough to make Louis go pink.

“You’re a tease,” he hisses and catches Nick’s wrist, holding it firmly away from his lower half. He’s trying not to smile, though. “I’m going to get out of the cab right this instant.” Nick laughs, breaking the grip easily and twisting until they’re holding hands. 

The cabbie drops them off in front of his shitty flat, and Nick’s a little more sober than before. Not that he was well and truly _drunk_ , but he was a bit tipsy back at the club. Louis is quiet, staring up at the complex with trepidation. 

He must find some new resolve because he plasters himself to Nick’s back while he tries to unlock the door, leaving tiny kisses on his neck and _fuck_ Nick’s hands won’t stop shaking. Finally, the lock clicks and pushes the door open, tugging Louis in and whirling him around. They’re kissing before the door even closes, fierce and sloppy and amazing. 

Louis’ tongue is clever, his hands are hot, and Nick’s pretty sure he’s on his toes to reach Nick’s mouth. Nick slides his fingers into Louis’ hair and gives a tug, smirking at the shiver that goes through him. 

“Are we going to fuck against the door, or what,” he breathes, nipping at Nick’s neck to make his point. Nick swallows a groan and thumps his head against the door.

“Don’t think my roommate would like it if she walked in to see that,” he says and Louis freezes. 

“She?” he says cautiously. 

“Strictly a roommate, love,” Nick tells him with a smile, wrapping his fingers around Louis’ very thin wrists. “I don’t swing that way.” He tugs him to his bedroom, flipping on the light and mentally thanking his past self for tidying up. 

In the softer artificial light, Louis looks different, younger. Like, really young. Nick pauses and cocks his head. 

“You’re-- how old are you?” 

“Nineteen in December,” he says.

“That’s… not too bad.” Not ideal, but he hadn’t been accidentally snogging a fifteen year old or something. He’d never forgive himself. 

“It’s fucking fine, we’re both adults. I’m consenting and all that shit.” 

“Cheeky,” Nick says, pulling a face. Louis pulls one right back. 

“How old are _you?_ You’re not like, thirty five or summat.” 

“Oi, I’m twenty four. Plenty young.” 

“Oh God,” Louis says with a stricken expression. “You’re bloody _ancient._ ”

Torn between outrage and amusement, Nick kisses him again instead of arguing. It works surprisingly well, Louis going pliant after a few seconds. Nick backs up until his knees hit the bed and collapses onto the sheets, smiling up at him.

“Yeah?” he asks and it looks like Louis is holding his breath. His hands are shaking. Nick props himself up on his elbows, frowning. “Are you alright?” 

“Hmm? Yeah, I’m okay.” His hands are still shaking. He looks so young. 

“Have you done this before?” 

Louis snorts, folding his arms and giving him an unimpressed look. “I’ve had sex before, Nicholas,” he says icily. Nick waits, an eyebrow raised, and after a moment he deflates. “Just, uh. Not in a while? A long while.” 

Nick sits up, trying to look as nonthreatening as possible. “We don’t have to fuck tonight. I’m fine with a nice blowjob, or just a kip, if we’re being honest.” 

“I want to though. And like, you’re fit,” he mumbles the last part, blushing slightly. It looks nice; Nick wants to make him blush again. “Can we get on with it already?” He’s desperate, like he’s going to talk himself out of it if they don’t start immediately. 

“You’re sure.”

“Consenting adult, Nick. Remember?” 

“Fine then. Let’s-- you’re wearing too many clothes.” 

“What a line,” Louis says, smirking. Nick rolls his eyes and hopes his cheeks aren’t too pink. 

“Shut up and take your kit off.” 

Louis laughs even as he’s pulling his shirt over his head, all golden skin and softness, and Nick can’t wait to get his hands, his mouth on him. He shucks his own shirt and his trousers while he’s at it. 

Fidgeting nervously for a second, Louis apparently makes up his mind because he crawls onto the bed. His knees straddle Nick’s hips and Nick’s hands find his waist easily, comfortably. Louis jumps at his cold fingers. 

“Still nervous?” Nick asks softly, running a hand up his side. Louis gives him a withering look and bends down to kiss him into the mattress. It’s slow and drugging and Nick’s head is spinning from the taste of Louis’ mouth. 

He flips them over after a while, swallowing Louis’ startled gasp, and moves to mouth at his neck instead. Louis is _loud,_ breathing heavily and whining when Nick nips at his skin. 

“Can I…?” He scrapes his teeth gently on Louis’ shoulder as an explanation and Louis nods. He brings his wrist up to his own mouth to stop himself from making a noise when Nick bites, but it doesn’t hide it, nor does it stop his back from arching the slightest bit. 

Nick soothes the sting with his tongue and moves lower, repeating it until Louis’ skin is littered with blooming bruises. He admires his work for a second. 

“So full of yourself,” Louis says and he manages to sound reproachful even when he’s nearly panting. Nick laughs, running a finger lightly down his chest and watching him twitch. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he mutters, almost absentmindedly, and Louis breathes out a laugh. 

“I know.” 

“Now who’s full of themselves.” 

“Still-- _uh_ \--still you.” Nick thumbs over his nipple again, watching him squirm. “You’re also a fucking tease.” 

“You said that earlier.” 

“Meant it. Would you _fuck_ me already,” he whines, trying to twist away from Nick’s fingers and towards them at the same time. His hair’s a wreck and his cheeks are pink, eyes a little wild and a rather impressive love bite on his neck, and Nick thinks _yeah, okay._ He reaches over through his bedside table, throwing a bottle of lube and a condom on the bed. 

“I think I can do that, yeah. You still alright with it?” 

“I just asked, didn’t I?’ 

“Last chances and all that shit. I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret in the morning.” 

Louis tips his head to look at Nick, a half-smile playing on his lips. 

“I won’t.” He sounds confident. Nick ignores the little twinge of _something_ in his stomach. 

“You’re a jump without looking kind of person, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah,” Louis says around a sigh as Nick crawls back to where he’s laying. “Yeah, I am.” 

He tenses when at the sound of the tube opening but Nick distracts him by pressing a kiss to the side of his knee. He relaxes, legs falling open a little more, and twists his hands in the sheets. Nick smirks. 

“Are you going to do anything besides sit there?” 

“Just admiring the view.” 

“I know I said this before,” Louis says, propping himself up on his elbows to glare, “but you’re entirely too smug. Are you honestly _that_ confident in your shagging abilities?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I think I’ll be the judge of that. Now would you just get _on_ with it--” he cuts himself off with a gasp and Nick’s smirk gets bigger, bordering on a grin. 

“Good?” Louis nods, knuckles nearly white where they’re wrinkling Nick’s sheet, and Nick wiggles his finger experimentally. “Good.” 

Louis arches his back and breathes out a laugh. “So fucking smug.” 

 

Morning comes far too soon. It’s almost painful, the way the light cuts in through the window. Nick’d forgotten to close the blinds last night. 

Nick stretches and hikes the duvet up closer to his ears, glancing over when it gets caught on something. 

There's a boy in his bed. 

Louis sleeps curled up on his side, close to the edge of the bed, like he's protecting himself from the world. His forehead’s creased in a frown and his hands are balled up next to his chest. 

Nick doesn’t remember falling asleep last night, and he _certainly_ doesn’t remember Louis falling asleep with him. He’d just assumed Louis would’ve let himself out. He doesn’t _mind,_ per se, but it’s just… different. 

He slides out from the duvet and pads into the kitchen, wincing at his head. Gillian’s already awake, like she always is, and there’s a pot of coffee made. 

“You’re an angel,” he tells her honestly, pouring it out. She smiles at him over her own cup and he puts in two pieces of toast in. 

“Hello to you too.” 

“I could kiss you.” 

“Please don’t.” He presses a peck to her cheek anyway, half in her hair. He can feel her smile under his lips. “Why are you making two cups? Did you bring someone home last night?” 

“Might’ve,” he drawls out and she laughs a little. 

“Ooh, you slag.” 

“Watch it, Gellz.” The toast pops up and he puts it on a plate, spreading butter over the top. After a second’s hesitation, he gets out some strawberry jam and spreads it on as well. Louis looks like the type of person to like jam. 

“Are you honestly making him breakfast in bed?” Gillian asks, amused, and he frowns at her as he tries to balance his dishes. 

“I’m being a good host.” 

“I’ve never hooked up with someone who made me breakfast in the morning.” 

“Maybe that speaks to the quality of people you’re sleeping with,” he tells her with a sniff. She rolls her eyes. “And you call _me_ the slag.” 

“Because you are, darling.” 

He makes a face instead of answering and goes back into the bedroom. Louis is halfway to getting dressed and he freezes with one leg in his trousers. 

“Morning,” Nick says cheerily, sliding the plate onto the bedside table. Louis watches him with wide eyes. 

“I was just about to go. I just-- is that toast?” 

“Yeah. And coffee, if you’d like.” 

“Don’t like coffee,” murmurs Louis. Nick looks down at the two cups. 

“Oh. Well, we might have some tea in the cupboard as well.”

“Aren’t you going to kick me out? Isn’t that what you do after a one night stand?”

“Maybe,” Nick allows and sips at his coffee. “But I thought I’d be nice and let you have breakfast first.” 

Louis considers this for a moment and then shrugs, kicking off his jeans and perching on the edge of the bed. 

“Alright, then. Give us a piece of toast.” 

Nick does, belatedly realising he’s going to have to do his sheets tonight. Honestly, they probably need the wash; it’s been a while. 

The silence is awkward, the two of them nibbling at their bread with nothing else to say. Nick half-wishes he had just let Louis leave with a wave and a “let’s do this again sometime?” 

“Your name’s Nick, yeah?” Louis says suddenly, frowning at him. He jumps. 

“Erm, yeah. Nick Grimshaw.” 

“Well, I know _that,_ ” he says with a smirk. “It was also on the posters. And I’ve occasionally heard you on the radio.” 

“Oh.” Nick flushes. His show’s late enough that most people don’t recognise him. Or, most people don’t care enough. “Can you not, um, like…” 

Louis arches an eyebrow, looking far too critical for eighteen. “Tell people you’re gay?” 

“Yeah, that.” 

“I won’t if you don’t. I’m not strictly _out_ to my mates yet. Or my parents. Or anyone.” He looks slightly daunted at the thought and a ping of sympathy goes through Nick. 

“Just random hook ups with boys in clubs, then?” 

Louis makes a face and nods quickly. Nick doesn’t push. He knows what that’s like, trying to find someone to get off with who won’t blab to the world. 

“So is it just boys, then?” 

“Does it matter?” 

“No,” he answers easily. “Doesn’t at all, but I’m just nosy, me.” 

Louis fidgets with the duvet, probably getting strawberry jam all over but Nick doesn’t have the heart to tell him to stop.

“It’s both. I’ve had girlfriends and I’ve thought they were fit. Still do, honestly. But I think lads are fit too.” He blushes suddenly, glancing at Nick out of the corner of his eye. “Obviously.” 

“Obviously,” Nick echoes and taps his fingers on the side of the mug. “And that’s okay.” 

“Thanks,” says Louis, back to his normal prickly self. He nicks the half-empty coffee cup and takes a sip, pulling another face. “That’s disgusting,” he tells Nick accusingly. 

“It’s coffee.”

“I hate coffee.” 

“Why’d you drink it then?” Nick asks with a half-surprised laugh. 

He shrugs. “Dunno. Couldn’t think of anything else to do to make it less awkward.”

“You’re definitely the first boy I’ve talked through a sexuality crisis in bed with,” Nick says dryly and instantly regrets it when Louis’ face falls. 

“Christ, sorry. I didn’t mean to like, tell you all that.” 

“S’fine. Weird but fine. I asked, anyway.” 

“ _You’re_ weird,’ Louis mutters, poking him in the side. Nick jumps at his chilly fingers against his warm skin.

“Bloody hell, why are you freezing?” 

“My hands are cold most of the time.” 

“Here, hold this.” Nick passes him the second cup of coffee that was on his dresser. Louis cocks his head, but wraps his fingers around it nevertheless. 

“Erm… why?” 

“Because it’s warm, you idiot. Or, half-warm at least. It’ll stop your fingers from falling off.” 

“You’re a bloody drama queen,” Louis tells him. Nick doesn’t fight it because it’s sort of _true_ , he’d just never admit it. He sticks his tongue out instead. Louis gets a strange look on his face, calculating and a little mischievous. It makes Nick nervous, just on principle.

“Do you have anywhere else to be soon?” Louis asks, putting down the cup and Nick does the same.

“It’s Sunday.” 

“So, yes or no?” 

“No, I’m free the whole day. Or nearly, I’m meeting a friend for drinks later--” Louis cuts him off by climbing onto his lap and kissing him. It takes Nick a minute to respond, too surprised, and Louis grabs his jaw to move him where he wants to be. 

Louis tastes like toast and strawberry jam and a tiny bit like coffee, and it should be kind of gross, but isn’t. That might just be because it’s Louis kissing him, though. He’s very good at it, just enough tongue and teeth. Nick slides his hands under Louis’ top and it’s his turn to jump. 

“And you said _I_ have cold fingers, fucking hell,” Louis tells him, a little raggedly. Nick thumbs at his hipbones and smirks up at him. 

“You can warm me up.” 

“What a _line_ ,” he grumbles, nipping at his jaw as a punishment. It makes Nick flinch, and he squeezes Louis’ waist in response. 

“It’s working, though.” 

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s your stupid bedhead that’s working, you twat. That and your fucking _huge_ hands.” Nick squeezes said hands and strokes at his waistband. Louis shivers, just a little. “How do you feel about a morning shag?” 

Nick doesn’t even think about it. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

 

Gillian’s got her judgemental expression on when Nick finally shuts the door behind Louis, a while later. 

“What?” he asks self-consciously, folding his arms over his chest like they’re going to protect him. Gillian just stares. “Bloody hell, what?” 

“You know what,” she says, following him to the kitchen. 

“No, I don’t actually know what because I can’t read your mind.” He pulls out a beer and offers it to her. She shakes her head. Pulling off the cap, he takes a long drink.

“That boy was really young, Grimmy.”

“He’s an adult,” he protests, but it sounds weak to his own ears. 

“How old?” 

“Dunno,” he lies. “He didn’t say.” 

Gillian raises an eyebrow. 

“It was just a _thing,_ Gellz. Something to help him figure out if he’s into lads. It’s not going to happen again.” 

She looks at him for a few seconds, seemingly chewing on her tongue.

“Alright,” she says after a moment. “If you say so.” 

“I do,” he tells her decisively, taking another drink. She sighs and pecks him lightly on the cheek. 

“Be careful, yeah? Don’t want anyone to get hurt.” 

“I _will_. Stop your fretting, I’m probably not even going to _see_ him again. Simply a one night stand.”

 

Nick thinks about Louis all week. He can’t help it, but the stupid boy won’t leave his thoughts and he decides to go out to find someone to shag again, someone else to obsess over. 

Not that he’s obsessing. Not at all. 

He’s enjoying a drink at the bar, chatting with a decently fit boy and idly thinking about maybe snogging him later, when someone barrels into him. 

“What the fuck?” he says, turning around. 

“Sorry,” Louis says, a little breathlessly. Nick blinks. 

“ _Louis_?”

“‘Lo.” He giggles and sways a little, pupils huge in the dim light. Nick steadies him with a hand that he quickly wraps back around his glass. 

“I’ll see you around?” the boy behind him says and slips away before Nick can say goodbye.

“How drunk are you, mate?” NIck asks with a tiny laugh and he gets a frown levelled at him in return. 

“M’not!” He very obviously is. “But I didn’t mean to bump int’you. Got pushed.” 

“Really.” Nick drags out the vowels a little, just to see Louis scowl a bit deeper. “And why would you get pushed?” 

Louis grins, sharp and quick, and Nick blinks again at the sight. 

“Might’ve been dancing with his girlfriend.” 

“Oh my god,” Nick says with a roll of his eyes. “Of course you did. Deserved to get pushed for that, you did. Might even push you myself.” Louis’ grin grows smug and he steals a bit of Nick’s drink. “Oi, that’s mine.” 

“Sharing is caring, Nick.” It’s snippy and bratty and everything Nick usually hates in people, but it’s alright on Louis. More than alright, actually. Nick’s only a little endeared, and it’s that thought that makes him drain his drink. Louis hiccups a little, eyes suspiciously bright. 

“Are you sure you're not drunk?”

“Of course not,” Louis says indignantly. It'd be convincing too, if Louis didn't wave his hands a little too hard and topple over. Nick catches him again and sets him upright. 

"Whoa there, love. You're smashed."

"M'not!"

"Whatever you say. Where're your mates, then?"

"Dunno," Louis slurs, looking at him with too-shiny eyes. "Think they wanted to move on. I didn't, though. Liked the music."

"Did you now?"

"Mhmm. Fun to dance to.”

“Are you sure you don't know where your friends are?" Nick asks, trying to scan the room to see if anyone looks familiar, looks like they could be friends with him.

"Nope!"

"Give me your phone then," he says and Louis frowns, looking suspicious. 

"Why? Are you going to steal it?"

"No, I’m going to call someone to take you home, idiot."

"Don't wanna go home. Wanna dance. Dance with me, very tall Nick?" He blinks his eyelashes in a way he clearly thinks is winning and Nick suppresses a grin.

"Could do, but let me see your phone first."

Louis fishes it out of his trousers-- Nick's not entirely sure how he managed to fit it in when they're so tight-- and hands it over. Naturally, it's dead and he lets out a groan. Louis giggles again, fingers inching towards Nick's half-empty drink in a way he probably thinks is sneaky. 

"Gimme," Louis says, pouting when he gets a look. Nick catches one of his hands and holds it, so he can't make a dash for it. They’re cold again.

"Where do you live, then?"

Louis frowns at the question, tilting his head in a way that's not adorable at all, and sticks his tongue out. 

"Don't remember."

"Christ, you are completely wasted off your arse, aren't you?" Louis actually turns in a circle to try and check and Nick sighs again, pulling his hand through his hair. He's literally got zero idea of what to do, just knows he can't leave Louis all by himself when he's barely able to remember his name. 

"Alright, alright," he mutters to himself and then a little louder to Louis, "Come on, love. It's time to go." He tugs the hand that's holding Louis' and starts pulling them out of the club, nodding at the bartenders as he goes. 

"Where're we going?"

"I'm taking you to mine," he answers as they finally make it out. Louis trips along behind him, making little frustrated noises when his feet don't move quick enough to match Nick's pace. 

"Are we going to shag again? I liked it a lot."

Nick chokes back a laugh and squeezes Louis' hand. 

"No, love, I'm putting you to bed."

"I'd rather like you to kiss me before you take me to bed. S'only polite, Nicholas. I'm not cheap fuck-- oh god." The rest of his complaints are cut short when he stops short and sways a bit. "I'm going to vom," he announces and Nick barely has time to usher him to a bin before he's sick. 

"Charming," Nick says with a twist of his lips. Louis stands up and wipes out his mouth, grimacing. "Do you feel better?"

"Wee bit."

"Ugh, I'm too tired for this." He leads Louis to his flat anyway, managing to unlock the door and shoulder the boy in. At least they’re closer to his home this time; he doesn’t have to worry about him sicking up in a taxi. 

Louis smells revolting, but Nick's not particularly keen on trying to force him into a shower either. He tells him to strip instead and goes in search of something clean for him to sleep in. 

"M'stuck," Louis whines and Nick cranes his head to see him pouting with his arms caught up in his shirt. Biting down a laugh, he gently untangles him and drops the piece of clothing on the floor. Louis lays back on the bed with a sigh and Nick looks away from his chest. 

"Can you manage your trousers?" he asks and Louis makes a vaguely assenting noise, wriggling around and trying to get them off. "Shoes first, love. You're going to have trouble otherwise."

"Oh, right." There's two thuds as he toes off his trainers, and then a softer one as his trousers drop as well. Dutifully pulling on the clothes Nick presses into his hand, he crawls up bed.

"G'night," he mumbles into the pillow, curling up on his side. Nick fetches the paracetamol and some water before getting in himself. 

Only, Louis has deposited himself in the dead centre of the bed and will not budge, no matter how much Nick prods. He ends up pinching his side and Louis opens one eye to glare. 

"Move over, you lump. I've got no room on me own bed." With a long-suffering sigh, Louis magnanimously scoots back a few inches, enough room for Nick to settle. "Thank you."

He gets a hand patting none too gently at his face for his kindness.

“Can’t believe you brought me all the way home and I’m not even going to snogged for it,” Louis mutters grumpily and Nick’s heart kicks up about two notches. 

“Sorry?” he manages and Louis looks at him again, eyes shiny with alcohol. 

“You’re fit and I was trying to pull tonight.” He looks hopeful and not so tired now, puckering his lips a little. “Kiss me?” 

Nick thinks about it, leans in before he realizes what he’s doing. 

“You’re drunk, love. Ask me in the morning, if you still want it.” Louis makes a displeased sort of sound, shifting onto his stomach. Nick hesitates, but reaches out to stroke down his back. “Go to sleep.” 

Louis obeys, and Nick follows not long after, hand still resting on Louis’ skin. 

 

Nick’s musing over tomatoes in the shop a week later when someone taps on his shoulder. 

“What the fuck,” he mutters, not quite awake but nearly completely out of food in his flat. He turns around and Louis is grinning at him. “What the fuck,” he repeats.

“Need any help?” Louis chirps. It’s too bright for this early. 

“Um, no. Not unless you know how to tell if a tomato’s any good or not.”

“Not particularly. I’m more of a pepper guy meself,” he says and smoothes a hand down his apron. It’s almost self-conscious and Nick tilts his head. 

“Do you work here?” 

“Did the nametag give it away?” 

The nametag in question is upside down. Maybe Nick’s not the only one who’s had a rough morning, or maybe that’s just Louis. 

“Since when?” 

Louis reaches over and idly starts rearranging the veg. 

“Dunno. Few weeks? Needed a job, so I applied here.” 

“Oh. That’s interesting.”

Louis gives him a small smile. “It’s not that interesting, but I’ve met some mental people. There’s this woman who treats her dog like it’s her baby _,_ all dressed up in coats and shit like that. His name’s Alfred and I’m pretty sure he eats better than I do.” 

“You’re a student, though. Isn’t your diet just pot noodles and takeaway?” 

“Pretty much, yeah.” 

“Then it’s not that much harder to eat better than you,” says Nick.

“Oh, take your tomatoes and fuck off,” Louis replies, shoving him in the side. It makes him stumble back a step, basket swinging wildly, and he catches himself on the edge of the veg counter. It jostles Louis’ neat arranging so a tomato falls to the floor. 

“Fuck,” Nick mutters as he stares at the mess. Louis snickers, not even bothering to hide his delight. 

“You’re going to have to pay for that, mate.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Nick complains and puts two more tomatoes in the basket. “How much is it going to be?” 

“Nah, I was just dicking around. It probably was close to rotten, if we’re being honest.” 

“That’s not good.” 

“Mm, no it’s not. We’re restocking tomorrow, so everything’s gone a bit off.” Louis checks over his shoulder with a nervous expression. “Don’t tell them I said that.” 

“Tell who?” 

“My manager.” 

“I’m just going to collect some cereal and then check out. Won’t have time to see management, I don’t think,” says Nick and Louis’ eyes light up. 

“Ooh, what kind of cereal?”

“Erm, weetabix,” he answers, consulting his halfhearted shopping list. He nearly misses the disappointed look Louis gives him, one that’s very nearly close to a pout. 

“You aren’t even going to get anything chocolate?” 

“No?” 

“What’s the point in cereal, then, if it’s just going to be boring old _weetabix._ ” 

“Weetabix can be chocolate.” 

Louis glares at him, arms folded over his apron. “That’s not the same thing and you know it. What am I going to eat the next time I come over?” 

“You’re going to come over?” Nick echoes, so incredibly confused, and Louis goes red. He drops his arms and kicks at something on the ground. 

“Well. Thought I might, if you wanted me to.” 

“Don’t you have other places to be? With your mates or summat.” 

“None of them are as good as a shag as you are.” 

“Oh, so you’re only using me for my body,” Nick teases, just to watch Louis splutter again.

“Stop flirting with me, Nicholas. Go get your boring-as-fuck weetabix and go away.” 

“I’m not flirting.” 

Louis snorts. “And I’m not going to get a lecture from my manager for wasting time chatting.” 

“Louis--” 

“I’m used to it.” He pulls a face and pulls on his apron again. “I like to talk too much. I’ll see you later, yeah?” 

Nick waves back and moves to the next aisle, head spinning. Hesitating, he glances over his shoulder before picking up a box of CocoPuffs and dropping them in his cart with the weetabix. Might as well.

 

He’s back in the club again, back in the DJ booth, and he’s only been gone for a bit, but he’s missed it. It’s not quite as dingy as the last club but there are still students all around, the consequence of living in a university city. 

“Oi oi!” someone calls and he peers over the side of the booth. It’s Louis, because of course it is. He looks flushed and drunk and wildly happy. 

Nick doesn’t believe in fate much, but running into Louis all the time is making him rethink his stance. 

“Are you stalking me?” he yells down and Louis scrunches up his face in thought. 

“No?” 

“You keep following me around.” 

“ _You_ keep going to my favourite places,” he says as he tries to clamber into the booth. Strictly, he’s not supposed to be in here, but Nick swallows the admonishment.

“Don’t touch anything,” he tells him instead as Louis’ fingers inch towards a dial. Louis pouts, and yeah, he’s drunk again. 

“It’s a club, what else am I supposed to do?” 

“Hm, dunno. Dance?” 

“I would, ‘cept the music’s a bit shit. No offence, love,” he says, patting Nick on the shoulder. “What does this slider do?” 

“It changes the volume of the music.” 

“Sick.”

“Louis, don’t touch it!” Louis gives him a withering look and twitches his fingers defiantly. Nick relents, slightly, and sighs. “I’ll tell you when you can.” 

“Fine,” Louis grouches, tucking his hands behind his back. Nick swallows down a laugh and tunes back into the music just as it’s time to change the song. He fiddles with a few dials until he’s satisfied, and then steps back with a nod. 

“Go on, that one,” he says, pointing at the slider closest to Louis. “Slowly, yeah?” 

They watch the people dance for a few seconds, everyone but them hardly noticing the change in music, and then Louis tilts his head. 

“Oh, me mate’s calling me over again. See you later, yeah?” 

Nick barely has time to mutter a goodbye before Louis disappears into the crowd and he’s left alone. 

The bartender Nick thinks is fit is closing tonight, so he hangs around until three. It’s all well, anyway, because the next DJ apparently decided not to show up. Nick doesn’t mind doing it the whole night, guzzling water bottles and vodka shots that are shoved at him periodically. 

The bartender’s name is Jake, and he’s tall with a scruffy sort of beard. Nick’s a little envious; he can’t grow anything half as good. Nick tells him so when they’re waiting outside for a cab, and Jake laughs. It’s a silvery sound and it makes Nick laugh as well.

He lights a cig and offers one to Jake who shakes his head. 

“Not my thing,” he says simply and Nick shrugs. 

“Do you mind if I?” 

Jake shakes his head again so Nick puts it to his lips, sucking on the end. He blows out a stream of smoke and Jake’s eyes catch on his mouth, just for the tiniest second. A flicker of smugness goes through him.

“Do you want to…” he trails off as he notices someone a ways away. 

It’s Louis, of course it is, waiting on the side of the corner. His hands are stuffed into his pockets, his collar’s turned up against the early-October wind, and he’s glaring at the two of them. 

“What?” Nick mumbles, half to himself, and takes an aborted step towards him. Louis’ eyes snap away and he focuses on the bus across the street. 

“What’s going on?” Jake asks, clearly confused. 

“Sorry, I’ve just seen a mate of mine and I think he needs some help. But um. I’ll see you next week, yeah?” 

“Oh. Yeah, sure. Here, give us your phone.” Nick hands it over for Jake to programme his number in and saves the name under a pint emoji. Jake leans forward and presses a quick kiss to Nick’s cheek, smirking. “Text me.” 

“I will,” he says, already taking a few steps away towards Louis. Jake lifts his hand and then crosses the street, walking quickly away. Nick spares a sad glance in his direction for the night he could’ve had. 

Louis’ chin goes up as soon as Nick opens his mouth. 

“Oi, why were you glaring?” 

“Wasn’t,” he says sulkily. Nick rolls his eyes. 

“I _saw_ you.” 

Louis just sniffs and starts patting around in his pockets. He pulls out a cig, only slightly crushed, and looks triumphant for a second before turning to Nick with an eyebrow raised. 

“Got a light?” 

“Nope,” Nick says breezily, ignoring Louis’ pointed look at the end of his lit cig. Louis is quiet for a moment, calculating, and then he leans over and starts pawing at his pockets. Nick yelps. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Looking for a lighter.” 

“Gerroff me!” 

“I know you’ve got one, and if you would’ve just _shared_ like a nice person, I wouldn’t have to go through your jacket.” 

Nick manages to capture Louis’ hands in one of his own-- deliberately _not_ thinking about the way Louis goes a little pink-- and reaches for his lighter with the other. 

“Alright, alright. Here you go, prat.” 

“Thank you,” Louis says with a sunny smile, flicking the end until it catches. He’s perhaps the worst person Nick’s ever met. With the smallest wrists. Not that Nick’s thinking about it.

“Why are you so awful?” he groans, mostly to himself. Louis blows out a stream of smoke in his direction. 

“I’m only awful to you, mainly because you’re awful.”

“Whatever.” He drops the butt and grinds it into the ground with his toe. 

“What do you know, anyway? You’re just a grubby student who thinks he’s cool.” 

“I am cool, thank you very much,” Louis says and it’s slightly sharpish.

“You’re a wanker at best,” he corrects just to watch Louis bluster. 

“I am a fucking delight.” 

“Oh, sure.” Nick drags the work out for a few seconds, working on being as condescending as possible. “A delight.” 

“Better than the other men you hang around. You’ve got the wankiest taste, do you know that? I think that boy had taller hair than you did, as impossible as that seems.” 

There’s something in his tone that makes Nick pause.

“Are you-- are you jealous?” 

Louis makes a strange face, one that passes too quickly for Nick to read. 

“No. M’not.” He finishes his cigarette too, and puts it out. Shoving his hands back in his pockets, he sighs. “I’ve got to get back. It’s late.” 

“Where are your mates?” Nick says quietly. 

“They left. Dunno where,” he answers, just as quiet. There’s something so sad, so lost in his voice and Nick hates it. 

“Do they do that a lot?”

Louis shrugs. “Sometimes. It usually isn’t bad, just when I have to wait for a bus when it’s fucking freezing outside.” He doesn’t sound like he means it and Nick frowns. 

“Need a hug?” he offers jokingly, but Louis tips his head up to look at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, sure,” Louis says before winding his arms around Nick’s waist without so much as a hesitation. Nick blinks once before hugging him back, feeling weird and happy all at once. Christ, Louis is the strangest fucking person he’s ever met in his life. He tells him so, and Louis shrugs again. 

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” 

“Dunno,” he answers and their faces are so close together. It only takes a second before they’re kissing, gentler than they’ve done before. It’s not a prelude to anything, they’re not trying to make their way to a bed. Louis’ hands fist in Nick’s jacket, and Nick’s hands cradle Louis’ jaw, and their mouths move softly together. 

Louis’ nose is cold from the wind, and his tongue is slick, and he nips at Nick’s lip every so often, just to keep it interesting. Nick thumbs at Louis’ cheekbones, the tips brushing against his eyelashes. Louis’ breath hitches at the feeling. 

They kiss and they kiss and they kiss for what seem like hours, until Nick’s head is spinning too much to properly think. Louis’ lips are so red when they break away, swollen, and his fingers are white where they’re holding on tightly. 

The moment seems fragile, somehow, like any words would break whatever’s between them. Nick chews on his cheek and doesn’t take his eyes off Louis. Louis does the same, barely breathing.

A car alarm goes off, startling them both out of whatever haze they were in. Louis shakes his head slightly, like he’s shaking something off, and stares at Nick’s shoes. 

“I should. Um. I should go,” Nick croaks. His voice echoes like a gunshot in the night, even as quiet as it is, and it makes him wince. Louis doesn’t say anything. “Are you okay with getting back? 

“Yeah.” 

“Louis.” He wraps a hand around his wrist, but Louis still doesn’t look up. “Love, what’s wrong?” 

“Don’t want to be alone,” Louis admits in a very small voice. “I’m tired of it.” 

“Come with me, then.” 

“Nicholas--”

“We don’t even have to talk. Just come and sleep in my bed with me.” He sounds a little desperate maybe, but there’s something about Louis that makes his heart ache. Louis tilts his head up, finally. 

“Okay.” 

 

Nick wakes up alone. It’s not a surprise, but he still can’t help the disappointment that settles in his stomach. He’d hoped Louis would stay. 

The sunlight paints strange designs on his ceiling and he lies on his back to study them, watching the dust that gets caught in the beams. It’s beautiful in a peaceful sort of way. If he were a better poet, he’d write about them, connect it to something in his life, make it meaningful. But he’s not, so he just daydreams about it instead. 

The door clicks open and he tilts his head to catch the culprit. It’s Louis, carrying two mugs. 

“Thought you left,” Nick says, voice rusty from sleep. Louis jumps a little. 

“Good morning to you too. Here.” He hands him a mug of coffee. “I hope I made it right.” 

Nick eyes the contents suspiciously as Louis climbs into the other side of bed. It _looks_ alright, but you never know.

“Did you poison it?” 

“No. But me mum likes it strong, and that’s how I know how to make it, so I’m sorry if it’s too much.” 

Nick takes a sip. It is strong, but it’s not bad at all. 

“You put sugar in it,” he says, surprised. Louis blushes. 

“Yeah, Gillian told me how you like it.” 

“Bless her.” He takes another drink. “What are you drinking, then? Since you don’t like coffee?” 

“Yorkshire. The only hot drink worth having,” Louis answers and then pauses. “Well, besides hot chocolate, of course.” 

“Of course,” repeats Nick. “And mulled wine.” 

“Haven’t tried that yet.” 

“S’nice. Very Christmassy.” 

Louis takes a long drink, sighing contentedly when he finishes. 

“My birthday’s the day before Christmas.” 

“Shit, really?” Louis nods. “That’s dead nice. Double the presents and double the celebration.” 

“Nah, it can be awful, really. Mum always tries to make it special, though, so I can’t complain too much,” he says, half mumbling into the mug. “Can’t believe you didn’t know when my birthday was, considering we’ve slept together a fair amount of times,” he teases and Nick rolls his eyes. 

“I don’t know hardly anything about you, really. Nor you, me,” says Nick. He grins at Louis. “Go on, tell me something.” 

Louis rolls his eyes. 

“Fine. I’m Louis William Tomlinson.” 

“Besides your name, Louis William Tomlinson.” 

He rolls his eyes again. 

“Ummmm, I’ve got four sisters. All younger, all ridiculous.” His voice is fond.

“ _Four_?!” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’ve got two siblings and that’s a handful.” 

“Well, I’d expect you were a handful as a child,” Louis says, grinning a bit. Nick pokes him in the side. 

“Oi, watch it.” 

Louis grins harder and hides it in his mug, draining the rest of his drink. “Alright, my turn to ask.” 

“I didn’t know we were playing twenty questions,” Nick complains. 

“Hush. What sort of music do you like?” 

“I’m a DJ, you can’t ask me that question,” he protests and Louis rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Can, and I will. What’s your favourite music?” he asks again. Nick sighs, thinking about it for a second. 

“I like a bit of Rihanna. Some Justin Bieber. Dunno. Ooh, Dr. Dre is me favourite though.” 

Louis’ eyebrows fly up and he shifts to his side to look at him. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. I’ve got a shirt with his face on it n’everything.”

“No fucking way.” 

Nick slips out of bed to rummage around in his dresser. It’s at the bottom of the drawer, scrunched up in the corner, and he takes it out. 

“Here,” he says, throwing it at Louis’ face. He catches it before it hits, shaking it out and staring at the front. 

“That’s incredible,” Louis says after a second’s look. “And also absolutely unbelieveable. Why do you own that?” 

“I like him. What’s so bad about that?” 

“Do you wear this out in public?” 

“Yes,” Nick says, snatching it out of his hands. “And I love it, thank you very much.” He balls it up and throws the shirt into the corner to be picked up later. Louis is giggling still when he lays back down so he pokes him in the side again. Louis twitches. “Are you ticklish?” 

Louis goes very still, edging himself away slightly. 

“No. I’m not _five.”_

Reaching over, he digs his fingers into Louis’ skin and laughs when he tries to squirm away. 

“Mhm. Are you sure about that?” 

“Yes!” 

Nick tickles him harder and sits up to get a better angle. Louis gasps for air, laughing and writhing out of reach, but Nick’s got him trapped against the edge of the bed. With too hard of a jerk, he goes falling off the side and onto the floor. 

“Oof, that sounded like it hurt,” says Nick, looking down at Louis. Louis glares at him and rubs his elbow meaningfully. 

“It did, you fucker.” He takes the boost up and sits back down on the bed with a frown. “That really hurt.” 

“Poor you,” Nick coos. “Would you like me to kiss it?” 

“You can kiss my arse,” Louis grumbles darkly and Nick arches an eyebrow. Louis goes a bit pink, holding out his arm. “Kiss it,” he says imperiously and Nick does, lips exaggeratedly pressed into a pout. 

“Better?” 

“A little.” 

“Here, let me distract you from the pain a bit,” he offers and digs his fingers into Louis’ side again. Louis shrieks, caught unawares, and hits him on the arm.

“You wanker, stop that!” 

Nick does it once more and then swallows his protests with a kiss, this time on the mouth. Louis fights it for a moment, still annoyed, but relents and lets himself be snogged into the mattress. It’s not the worst morning he’s ever had. 

 

_hey i have a question._

_**who the bloody fuck is this ?** _

**__** _ha ha very funny_

_it’s nick btw_

_in case you didn’t know_

_**i don’t know a nick** _

**__** _stop being stupid louis_

_**ok ok fine** _

**_what’s your question?_ **

**__** _there’s a concert in a few weekends and i have an extra ticket_

_**look at you !! mr big shot !!** _

**__** _do you want to fucking come with me or not_

_**who’s concert ?** _

**__** _the backstreet boys_

Nick picks up the phone on the first ring, laughing to himself as he does. 

“Hello, Louis.” 

“You want to go to a Backstreet Boys concert?” Louis asks flatly. “Are you serious?” 

“I’m taking that as a no, then?” 

“No, I’ll go. I’m just… why the Backstreet Boys?” 

“I have to go to it for a work thing, yeah? Also, there’s absolutely no shame in liking the Backstreet Boys.” 

“Me mum likes them,” Louis muses and Nick rolls his eyes. 

“Then come with me to tell her about it.” 

“Christ, Nick. I’ve already said I’ll go with you. You don’t have to keep wanging on about it.” 

“I’m trying to ask you out on a _date_ , you can at least be a little excited.” 

“It’s a fucking concert and I don’t see why-- hold on. Did you just say _date_?” 

Nick thinks back on his words. “No?” He definitely did. 

“You definitely did,” Louis says gleefully. “I can’t believe you’re asking me out on a date!” 

“Oh, shut up, Tomlinson. It’s not like we’ve haven’t slept together. Stop acting like a child.”

The old lady at the next table gives him a dirty look. He rolls his eyes and goes back to picking apart his croissant with his fingers. 

“Yeah, but this is like… proper romantic and shit. What if I don’t want to go on a date with you? What if I just want to be mates?” 

“Fucking hell, Louis,” Nick nearly shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. “Just forget about it, then. I’ll find someone else to go. Sorry that I was being nice, and whatever.” 

“Nick--”

He hangs up and drops the phone on the table with a clatter, burying his face in his hands. His cheeks are burning, he can feel them on his fingers, and he wishes he wasn’t so fucking embarrassed. Louis is a eighteen year old brat and a nice lay. There’s no need to feel rejected because he didn’t want to go on a fucking date. 

Except, Nick kind of really wanted him to. 

Maybe he’ll text that fit bartender-- Jay? Jake?-- and take him instead. He seemed like he was interested in Nick, and probably good in bed as well. Better than Louis, certainly. Louis with his little hands and sharp smile and even sharper wit. 

Christ, he’s fucked over this boy. Christ.

He tucks his phone back into his pocket and slings his bag over his shoulder, leaving the dregs of his latte and the crumbs of his croissant on the table. He’s nearly late, and will be even later if he mopes around being angry. 

“Boys are shit,” he mumbles to himself as he goes up the stairs, flashing his ID at the guard. It’s quiet at this hour, most of the people gone home for the day, but his is just starting. He says hi to the night crew, bye to the ones just leaving and gets to work. 

 

Louis shows up at his doorstep the next day, looking slightly guilty and very tired. He doesn’t say anything about the night, and neither does Nick, as much as he’d like to. He just lets himself be backed into the wall and kissed thoroughly. It tastes like a competition and a little bit like an apology. 

They don’t talk as they make their way to the bedroom, mouths otherwise occupied, and Louis takes his clothes off with single minded focus. His hands are cold on Nick’s skin but they’re also soft as they smooth over his shoulders. 

Nick closes his eyes and doesn’t think about anything butLouis’ mouth and Louis hands and the little bruises he leaves scattered on Nick’s chest. 

 

Louis comes by one Wednesday afternoon, dropping his rucksack by the door and wincing at the thud it makes. He’s here in Nick’s flat more days than not, getting away from his crowded flat or shitty job or friends who don’t seem to care. Nick doesn’t like Louis’ friends very much; they have a tendency not to tell Louis about anything. Nick lets him come around because, well, he’s funny and Nick gets bored too easily.

Today, Louis has a beaming smile on his face and Nick swears it’s like looking directly into the sun. His breath hitches the smallest bit in his throat. 

“Hey Lou,” he says, patting the sofa, and Louis snuggles up into his side with a sigh. 

“Lectures started today and it was terrible,” Louis says. “I wish I didn’t have to go.” 

“Classes are the worst,” agrees Nick. “S’why I dropped out.” 

Louis groans, thudding his head into Nick’s arm. 

“Please don’t tempt me. I want to quit so badly.” 

“Aww, love. You can’t quit. I didn’t get my degree and look how I turned out.” 

Louis gives him a look and pokes him in the tummy. “You’re the one with the posh job, Mr BBC.” 

“Fuck off. They’ll get bored of me soon enough and sack me, and then where I be? In the poorhouse, Mr Tomlinson.” 

“I’m never shagging you again if you lose your job,” Louis says solemnly, but Nick can hear the teasing in his voice. He pokes Louis right on back, watching as he flinches violently. Ticklish, right. 

“Are you only shagging me for my money?” Nick asks, putting on a hurt tone. Louis nods, serene and absolutely unaffected by Nick. 

“Oh, most definitely.” 

“How’s that working out for you?” 

“Not well. Might as well just leave and never come back,” says Louis airly. Something seizes in Nick’s stomach just thinking about Louis leaving, but he swallows it down and pushes him off the sofa. Louis lands with a thump that sounds like it hurt and glares up at him.

“Go on then,” he says. 

“Definitely getting the fuck out of here,” Louis tells him from his place on the floor. He’s got a wicked expression and Nick knows he’s in trouble. Jumping up from the sofa, he sprints into the kitchen and hopefully away from Louis’ devilish schemes. “Come back here, Nicholas,” Louis yells as he gives chase. 

Nick nearly gets cornered by the oven, but he manages to dodge Louis and runs into the loo instead. He locks the door and sits against it, breathing a little heavily. 

“That’s not fair!” Louis calls and bangs on the door with his fist. Nick laughs, banging back. 

“Not my fault if you weren’t fast enough!” 

“You started it, wanker. Come out so I can get you back.” 

Nick pretends to think about it for a second. “Nope, rather not. I’ll stay right here for eternity, thank you very much.” 

“What if I need a wee? Or what if you get hungry?” He flicks the lights a few times, _onoffonoff_ , and Nick closes his eyes against the flash. 

“You can wee in your own home, mate. As for food, I don’t suppose you’d be willing to shove food under the door or summat?” 

“Shan’t.” 

“Well then, maybe Gillian will.” 

“Or you could come out and fuck me until I can’t remember my name, let alone why I’m mad at you,” Louis says in a tone that’s almost too casual. “I’d be up for that.” 

Nick swallows and cracks the door open to glare at him.

“You’re a minx,” he tells him. Louis looks unconcerned, flashing him a grin. 

“Mmm.” 

“A menace to society.” 

“So I’ve been told.” 

“Shouldn’t be let out in the world,” Nick says as he opens the door. Louis just gives a shrug and joins him in the bathroom. Waiting until he’s fully in the room, Nick squeezes past and slams the door, cackling madly. Louis starts to yell, banging on the door again. “Not gonna let you out now.” 

“I hate you, Nicholas Grimshaw,” Louis complains and kicks the door. “I don’t know why I think you’re fit at all.” 

“Aww, babe. You don’t mean that,” croons Nick and Louis scoffs. 

“I do. You’re not, and your hair’s stupid. So are your clothes.” 

“I have impeccable taste, excuse you.” 

“Let me out,” Louis whines, drawing out the words. “I’m hungry and I’m cold.” 

“The shower’s right there,” says Nick but he eases up against the door so it can swing open. Louis is standing with his hands on his hips and an obviously fake glower on his face.

“Thank you,” he says as primly as he can manage and Nick smirks. 

“Anytime, love.” 

Louis kicks at his shins as he walks by, making Nick hiss in pain. He plops down on the sofa and reaches for the telly remote, switching it to some sports channel.

“Do we have to watch this?” Nick complains as he sits next to him. Louis glares at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Yes.”

“I hate football.”

“You don't like football?" Louis asks, turning to him with a shocked look.

“Fuck no," Nick says with a laugh. "What's there to like? It's dead boring."

"It is _not._ There's strategy and tricks and--" Nick interrupts him with an honest-to-god accidental yawn.

"Boring,” he finishes and Louis rolls his eyes. “You’d probably get on well with my dad, though. He thinks it’s a disgrace that I don’t love it, or whatever. His biggest disappointment as a father.”

“Suppose I would get along with him. He sounds ace,” Louis says absentmindedly, turning back to the telly and tucking his feet underneath himself. It’s really fucking cute, and Nick would really like to kiss him. He doesn’t because he suspects Louis would rather be watching than snogging at this particular moment.

“You’re going to make me watch this, aren’t you.”

“Mhmm.”

“Joy,” Nick replies as sarcastically as he can. Louis pinches his leg for that and then tilts his head back to look at him.

“The players are fit," he says, crossing his eyes. It looks really weird upside down. "You could watch it for them."

Nick doesn't blurt out _or I could watch you instead_ , but it's a close thing. And that's what he ends up doing, watching all of Louis' emotions play out on his face and it's just a little bit magical. 

Louis is a menace and sometimes Nick wonders why he bothers at all, but there’s something about him that makes never want to look away. 

“I can feel you watching me,” Louis murmurs, tipping his head to grin at Nick. “It’s a bit weird, honestly.”

“ _You’re_ a bit weird,” Nick mumbles back. Louis’ grin softens into something smaller, warmer, and he reaches for Nick’s hand to twist their fingers together. 

“We can watch something else, if you’d like. I just put it on to mess with you.” 

“I know.” 

“Know-it-all.” 

“Maybe you’re just too open,” counters Nick. “Predictable.” 

“Well, that’s probably true too,” Louis says. Nick slides down so he’s laying on the sofa with his head in Louis’ lap. “I could try to be more mysterious.” 

“Nah. Doesn’t fit you, you’re too passionate.” 

“Thank you? Was that meant to be a compliment?” 

“Yeah,” says Nick quietly, staring up at Louis’ profile. It’s a very nice profile, even when Louis looks down to make a face. “Everyone can tell what you’re feeling, even when it changes on the drop of a hat, and I don’t ever have to guess. I have to guess _why_ you’re feeling things, but I can always tell what you’re feeling.” 

“Well,” Louis says and his cheeks are the tiniest bit pink. “Maybe you just know me too well.” 

 

“I can’t go tomorrow,” Louis says quietly into the darkness. Nick blinks awake from his drowsy half-sleep.

“Hmm?” 

“The concert. I can’t go. I got scheduled to work that night and they won’t let me off.” 

“Thought you didn’t want to go, anyway,” Nick mumbles. Louis shifts so they’re nearly nose to nose, sharing breaths and so close Nick can see his eyes even in the dimness. 

“You don’t know me very much at all, then.” 

“Sorry,” Nick says after a moment. Louis’ lips touch his forehead, almost too gentle to be a kiss. 

“We’ll have to save the date for next time.” 

“Yeah,” Nick sighs, already mostly asleep. “Next time.”

 

The concert is fine, though not as good as it would’ve been if Louis was there, making fun of everything on stage. Nick’s strangely melancholy when he gets out, but he promised to meet Aimee for drinks after. 

Naturally, Aimee texts to say she’s actually not coming _after_ he buys something far too expensive to not finish. At least the club is cool, filled with cool people. 

He sips at the drink idly, watching the people around him with a vague sort of interest. A boy glances at him and then doesn’t look away, tilting his head in an becoming way. Nick flashes him a smile.

“Hi,” the boy says as he comes over. “You look lonely.”

“Am, a bit.”

“Want some company?” the boy says. He’s very nice-looking, all muscley and strong, with blond hair hanging in his eyes. “M’name’s Colin.”

“Hi Colin. I’m Nick.”

“Are you at uni, then?”

“Oh, no. I’ve done that already.”

Colin gives him an odd look and leans in closer.

“What brought you to this place? It’s not generally a place anyone but, like, students go to. Not posh enough or summat.”

“My mate was supposed to meet me here. I don’t know where she found it, though, just said it was a nice place,” Nick says with a shrug. Colin is so close, radiating heat, and he’s got a rather large, rather nice hand wrapped around a glass. The other one’s tapping on the table, awfully close to Nick’s own fingers. He swallows. “What are you studying?”

Colin laughs, lifting a hand to run it through his hair. “Look, I didn’t come over to talk about lectures. Is that alright?” His fingers are warm on Nick’s wrist where they landed. “Do you want to dance?”

Nick spares a glance over his shoulder.

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” They go out to the dance floor, Colin a warm weight next to Nick, and start to dance. They dance at each other for a few seconds, Nick very carefully trying not to flail his limbs, before the crowd presses them closer together. Nick blinks and Colin’s so, so close, his stupidly big hands on Nick’s waist.

“What do you say,” Colin says with his mouth close to Nick’s ear, nodding at the loos in the back. Nick starts and stumbles back. He’s drunker than he realised and he nearly trips over his feet. Colin steadies him with a hand on his shoulder. “How drunk are you, mate?” 

“Just clumsy,” he mumbles as someone puts his hands on Nick’s back and shoves. Nick goes toppling forward and crashes into Colin’s back. “What the fuck?” they both say together, and he swings around to glance behind him.

It’s Louis, of course it is. He looks _mad._

“What are you doing here?” Nick nearly shouts and Louis lifts his chin, defiant. 

“Could ask the same thing of you, Nicholas.” 

“I was supposed to meet Aimee, not that it’s any of your business,” Nick says, and Colin frowns at both of them. 

“Sorry, who is this?”

“It’s my mate, Louis.” 

“Cool,” Colin says, wrapping a hand around Nick’s waist. “Nice to meet you. Now, we were in the middle of something--” He tugs at Nick gently, pulling him in the direction of the toilets. Louis’ face darkens. 

“You absolute _dickhead,_ ” Louis bites out, his hands balled at his sides. Nick can feel his anger from here and this is going to get awful if he let’s it. 

“Alright, I think I’ve had enough of this,” Nick says loudly, stepping away so Colin’s hand drops off his waist. “C’mon, we should go.” He wraps his fingers around Louis’ wrist, but Louis shakes him off, still glaring at Colin. “Lou,” he says quietly, and Louis glances at him. With a scoff, he pushes past them both and stalks towards the door.

Nick gives Colin an apologetic smile and follows Louis out.

Louis is slouched against the wall and glaring up into the sky, looking very much like a teenager. He puts a cigarette to his mouth as Nick watches.

“What’s your problem?” Nick asks, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. A muscle works in Louis’ jaw.

“Could ask you the same question,” he mutters and it’s almost too quiet for Nick to catch. He takes in another drag and lets it out again, the smoke silvery in the moonlight. “Why were you dancing with him?”

“Cause I wanted to.”

Louis grunts and scrubs at his face.

“Yeah, well. You’re a fucking prick,” he tells Nick. 

“Why were you there anyway? I thought you had work.” 

“Finished early, didn’t I. I’m allowed to have some fun if I want.” 

“Last I checked, _fun_ didn’t mean almost starting fights in a club, Louis,” Nick hisses and Louis rolls his eyes, taking a drag on his cigarette. He’s got a familiar look on his face. “Hold on, you’re jealous.” Louis snorts and stares up again. “No, don’t ignore me. You were jealous of me dancing with Colin.”

“Might’ve been.” 

“For fuck’s sake, why?” 

“Because _Colin,_ ” Louis sneers, “is a fuckweasel and an idiot. As are you, apparently.” He stubs out his cigarette and shoves off the wall. Without so much as a goodbye, he starts walking.

“Where are you going?”

“Home,” Louis tosses over his shoulder.

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m really fucking knackered and I don’t want to deal with you right now. Okay?”

“Okay?” Nick answers, frowning. “Well bye, I guess.”

“Bye, Nick,” he says. He gets a few steps and then whirls around, looking desperate. “Wait, Nicholas. I just-- tonight supposed to be a date, right?” Nick frowns at him, pushing a hand through his hair. 

“I thought you didn’t want it to be one.”

Louis shakes his head, seeming very young in that moment. Vulnerable. 

“No, I didn’t.”

And then he turns back and starts off again.

 

“And that was “Inspector Norse” by Todd Terje. God, I love that track. Have you noticed? I think we should play it again. Matt, what do you say?”

“I think that’s probably a bad idea,” Matt answers and Nick grins at him over the soundbooth.

“Well, that’s too bad because we’re going to anyway! Once again, “Inspector Norse” by Todd Terje!” He queues the music up again and pulls his headphones off, sending Matt a cheeky wink. “Sorry, love.”

“You’re obsessed with the song.”

“It’s a good one!” he protests just as one of the interns runs in.

“Grimmy, you’ve got a visitor.”

“What?”

“Louis?” she says, looking at her smudged hand. “He says he’s a mate of yours.”

“He’s here?” Nick asks, surprised. She does a sort of half-nod, half-shrug type of thing.

“Yeah. Should I send him away?”

“No, he can come up. I just don’t understand why he came.”

She does the half-nod, half-shrug again as she runs back out again, presumably to let Louis in. Matt frowns at him.

“Louis?”

“Honestly, no idea.” He glances at the computer. There’s a few songs queued up; he’s got time. “I’ll be right back.”

“Grimmy--” Matt starts to yell but Nick’s already almost out of the room. Louis is in the company kitchen, looking around with an interested gleam in his eye. He jumps when he notices Nick in the doorway.

“Hi,” he says, shifting his weight awkwardly. “I, er. Hi.”

“Hi yourself. What are you doing here?”

Louis drops his gaze to the floor and shrugs.

“I wanted to like, ask. Um. Do you want to come over tonight?” Nick quickly glances behind him to make sure no one’s there and then checks his watch. He’s got about a minute. “My flatmates are all out and I’ve got the place to myself.”

“Couldn’t you have just texted me this?”

Louis shrugs again.

“Maybe. I didn’t want to, though. It felt strange.”

“I’d say this is stranger, love,” Nick says doubtfully and Louis makes a little sound in his throat.

“Just answer the question, Nicholas.”

“I mean. Obviously, yes. I’ll come over after I finish tonight. I’ve got to get back--”

Louis steps forward and kisses him suddenly, just for a second, and then steps away.

“See you then,” he says quietly and pushes past him. Nick stands there, shocked, for a second before shaking himself out of it. He makes it to his seat just as the song’s ending.

“Why was he here?” Matt asks during another intermission. “Your friend, I mean.”

“I don’t really have a clue.”

 

Louis opens the door to his room already in his pyjamas. They’re Coke ones and Nick’s instantly jealous.

“I’m going to steal those,” he says and Louis smiles.

“Hello to you too,” he replies, amused, and checks that no one’s out in the hall. “Welcome.”

It looks like a typical student dormitory, dingy and a bit musty, and people’s shit all over the place. The kitchen is small, but there’s a lounge with a sofa that’s not too horrible and a telly on mute in the corner.

“I bought pizza,” says Louis. He’s leaning against the door, seeming a little uncomfortable. “It’s got a lot of veg on it. It’s the one that sounded most like something you’d like.”

“Okay. I’m starved, haven’t had dinner yet.”

“Here.”

Nick follows Louis into the kitchen and accepts the piece that’s given to him. He groans a little at the taste.

“I’m going to be so sick tomorrow,” he says ruefully around his bite. Louis frowns, cocking his head. “I’m lactose intolerant, in theory, but this is too good to not eat.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Don’t care,” Nick tells him, defiantly shoving another bite in his mouth. “I’ll hate myself tomorrow, but this is wonderful for now.”

Louis laughs, running a hand through his hair. It makes the fringe stand up and he shakes it down. Nick’s a little endeared.

“Where are all your housemates?” he asks through a mouthful of cheese and peppers.

“Went home, I think.”

“All of them?”

“Yeah. They all live sort of nearby, and it’s a holiday so. They all left.” Louis nudges a dirty plate on the counter so it’s not hanging off the edge. “Didn’t fancy being alone, but it was too expensive to go home. I’ll just wait until Christmas.”

“Where do you live?”

“Erm, Doncaster.”

“With your millions of little sisters, right?”

He gives Nick a faint smile, just a little quirk of the lips. “Just four, but yeah.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a million,” Nick says loftily and then wolfs down the rest of his pizza. It settles heavily in his throat and he swallows heavily. “Do you have anything to drink?”

“Corona, I think. Or I could nick one of the Cokes. They won’t miss it.”

“Coke’s great, thank you.” 

Louis passes him a bottle and then waves him over to the sofa. Collapsing on it, he waits for Nick to sit as well and then swings his legs over Nick’s lap.

“Oh hello,” Nick says dryly. “Go ahead and use my lap as a footrest, go on.”

Louis digs his toes into his thigh in response until Nick shoves his foot away.

“Brat.”

“You call me that a lot.”

“Because you act like a brat a lot.”

Louis tips his head to grin at him lazily. “And yet you shag me anyway.”

“I’ve always been bad at self control,” Nick says, teasing, and pulls at the hair on his legs. Louis yelps and snatches his legs away, catching Nick in the balls as he does. “Fuck.”

“Serves you right,” mutters Louis rebelliously, but he does give him a soothing pat on the shoulder. If he didn’t know any better, this would feel like a normal night with each other, but there’s still an undercurrent of tension. Louis seems to pick up on it too, fidgeting until he brightens. “Oh hey, you know what else I have?”

“What?” Nick asks but Louis is already up and away, running to what Nick supposes is his room. He comes back with a joint, a lighter, and a hopeful smile.

“D’you want to?”

“Yeah sure, go on,” says Nick. He hasn’t got anything tomorrow, nor work tonight, and it’s been a long week. Louis props open one of the windows and lights the joint, taking a deep drag before handing it over. Nick does the same, blowing the smoke out slowly. It works fast and he can feel it moving sluggishly through his system. “Good shit,” he breathes and Louis makes a little noise of agreement.

They pass it back and forth until Nick feels like he might melt into the sofa, just become a puddle of Nick Grimshaw staining the upholstery.

“Have you, like, ever come while high?” he asks, looking over at Louis. Louis thinks about it for a second, watching his toes, and then sighs.

“Nope, don’t think so.”

“Do you want to?”

“Yeah, but not here. C’mon, let’s go.” He somehow heaves himself up and grabs at Nick’s hand. Whining, Nick lets himself be pulled up and they stumble their way to Louis’ room. It’s an absolute tip, clothes everywhere and half-empty mugs scattered on any horizontal surface.

Louis collapses on his back on the bed, on top of the duvet and pile of clothes, and starts to strip off. He’s languid and lazy and Nick wants to stare at him for a while.

“Are you just going to watch?”

“Yeah,” Nick answers hoarsely, but he helps pull off the joggers anyway, smoothing a hand down Louis’ fuzzy leg. In his hazy state, it feels like sparks are going off, little shocks of electricity wherever Nick’s skin meets Louis’, so he does it again.

“You’re tickling me,” Louis mumbles, kicking out his feet a bit and then letting his legs fall open. “Get on with it.”

“Bossy,” Nick says with a snap of the waistband of Louis’ pants. Louis jumps and then kicks him in the leg. “And impatient.”

“Just because you’re fucked doesn’t mean you can take fifty million years, Nicholas,” Louis says, and Nick loves the way his name sounds like that, loose and long and a little bit fond. He pulls his pants off and Louis’ protests cut off abruptly when Nick gets to work.

 

“You were right,” Louis says lazily. They’re still tacky with sweat, lying naked on the bed with the sheets wrapped haphazardly around their waists. “Orgasms are better when you’re high.”

“Say that again.”

“Orgasms--”

“No, no. The part where you said I was right,” Nick tells him, snickering when Louis snorts. He rolls over into his shoulder and bites at it gently, not enough to break the skin but enough to make Nick shiver.

Louis mumbles something into his skin, startling Nick from his half-doze.

“Hmm?”

“I _said,_ I might like you.”

“I should hope so. We’ve fucked enough times.”

“No, Nick,” Louis says, frustrated. He presses his forehead into Nick’s shoulder again and then looks up at him. “If I asked you to be my boyfriend, what would you say?”

Nick blinks into the darkness, frozen for a second. 

“What?” he manages and Louis sits up. He arranges himself so he’s crosslegged on the bed and wraps a blanket around his shoulders. He looks nervous and like he’s eighteen. Sitting up as well, Nick drags over the duvet so it’s in his lap and bites at his thumbnail.

“I, erm...” Louis takes a deep breath. “I really like you, alright? I think you’re fit or whatever, and you’re kind, and my heart sort of does this stupid jumping thing whenever you smile, and I just really like you.” He sounds almost angry. Nick glances down and notices his hands trembling. He tucks them under his legs.

“Louis--”

“And I don’t like it when you dance with other people and I don’t want to be alone, and-- would you be my boyfriend?” He ends it glaring at the duvet like it’s personally offended him. Nick takes in a breath and holds it, lets it out slowly. His head’s spinning and he’s not quite sure if it’s from Louis’ words or the sex or the weed. Maybe a combination of all three.

“I’m not so good at boyfriends--”

“--I’ve never had one--”

“--and they tend to get bored of me pretty easily.”

“I could never,” Louis says quietly, so quietly Nick almost doesn’t catch it. He curls himself up, wrapping his arms around his knees and hiding his face against them. “Could you just... go? Please?”

“What?”

“I’m sorry I asked, please leave. I won’t talk to you again.” 

Nick forgets how young Louis is sometimes, young not just in the way he acts, but in the way he handles his emotions. Nick’s almost forgotten how fear made him act at nineteen, but he’s pretty sure he had a hairpin trigger on his feelings too. 

“Wait, Lou,” he says, gentle, wrapping his hand around Louis’ ankle and trying to pull his legs away from his face. “I’m sorry, you just surprised me. I didn’t... I didn’t expect that, okay?”

“Sorry,” Louis says again, his voice strange and tight. Nick edges closer, strokes his hair away from his forehead. Louis freezes at the touch.

“I like you too, yeah? Haven’t been able to get you out of my bloody head ever since I met you. I’ve been driving Gillian mental, I think,” he says softly, fingers gentle against Louis’ hair. Louis leans into it a little bit, like he’s trying not to but can’t help it.

There are a million reasons for Nick to say no, for him to walk right out of this flat and not look back. Louis is too young, and Nick’s too flighty, and Nick’s sure it’s all going to end up in a mess, but what the hell. Nick’s never been good at self-control, or self-preservation. He smiles.

“Fuck it, yeah.”

Louis freezes again. “What?”

“Let’s be boyfriends, yeah. You and me. Boyfriends.”

“You’re not pulling my leg, are you?” Louis asks cautiously, lifting his head to peer at Nick. 

Nick tugs on his ankle and shrugs.

“I mean, I _am,_ but not about that. I mean it.”

There’s a second when Louis just looks at him, his whole body tense like he’s holding himself still. Nick looks back, looks at his fucking _boyfriend_ and something swells in his chest, something he can’t place. And then Louis springs forward and barrels into him, knocking him back against the headboard. His arms are locked around Nick’s neck and he’s in his lap, and Nick’s still dizzy. And then, Louis’ lips are at his jaw and down his throat, and Nick can barely breathe.

“Wait, wait. We can’t tell people, yeah? Like, we can tell our mums, but I don’t know if I want to hold hands down the main street or anything.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Louis says breathlessly and Nick gets the impression he’d say yes to anything right now. It makes him a little uncomfortable, but he shakes his head a little bit and presses his mouth to Louis’ cheek. “I don’t want to be, like, out to me mates yet, I don’t think. Not all of them, at least.” He nudges at Louis’ cheekbone with his nose and can feel Louis smile.

Nick’s never been in a relationship like this, all whirlwind but somehow one that still feels _right_. That’s how it’s supposed to feel, isn’t it? Like everything’s slotting carefully into place, like Louis is just meant to be here. He wants to hold onto this feeling and never, ever let go. 

“Not so secret boyfriends?” he asks, and Louis puts out his pinky. Nick links it in his own and squeezes.

“Not so secret boyfriends,” agrees Louis. 

 


	2. as the moon lies low and overhead (we're lost)

**[as the moon lies low and overhead (we’re lost) // nick // 2010]**

 

Nick wakes up to cold feet on his legs and a hand on his face. It’s early still, for December anyway, about eight in the morning, and the person hadn’t been there when Nick went to bed last night. He gently removes the hand and sits up on his elbows.

It’s Louis, of course it is, back from his holiday with his family. He’d been gone for two weeks and, well. Nick had missed him, as much as he hates to admit it.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he whispers, nudging at Louis. “Wake up.”

Louis grumbles in his sleep and shifts away. Shaking his head, Nick presses a kiss to Louis’ shoulder and tugs the blanket down to his waist.

“I’m going to go get some coffee, yeah? I’ll be back in a moment.”

Louis doesn’t respond and Nick pulls on some joggers against the morning chill. They’re too short; they must be Louis’.

He scratches at his stomach as the coffee pot starts, yawning and idly watching out the window. It’s too quiet, really. A house that has Louis Tomlinson in it should not be a quiet house. The coffee pot beeps and he reaches for a cup, pouring it out and dropping a spoonful of sugar in it as an afterthought.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he sings as he goes back into his bedroom, grinning at the groan Louis lets out.

“It’s too early.”

“Don’t care. I’ve missed you and I’m bored, so you have to pay attention to me,” Nick says primly, taking a gulp of his coffee. It’s hot and it burns his tongue. Louis lifts his head and squints at him.

“Did you make me anything?”

“Nope.”

“What a supportive boyfriend,” Louis tells him sarcastically and holds out his hand for the coffee. Ignoring the _something_ that still twists in his stomach at the mention of the word ‘boyfriend,’ he gives the mug over. Louis takes a sip and makes a face. “Disgusting stuff. Why do you drink that?”

“Why do you keep drinking my coffee if you don’t like it?”

Louis shrugs and drinks again. “I’m trying to get acclimated. Also what else am I going to drink? You didn’t make me any tea.”

“You can make it yourself, lazy bum.” He deposits the cup on the nightstand and climbs up on the bed, legs straddling Louis’ waist. Louis looks up at him with a carefully blank expression, but there’s a smile tugging on his lips.

“You said you missed me.”

“Hmm, did I?” Nick asks loftily, bending down to press a kiss to Louis’ nose. It wrinkles under his lips. “Don’t remember saying that.”

Louis pouts and it’s all Nick can do not to kiss it away. “You did. You missed me a lot, admit it.”

“Never,” he vows and kisses Louis’ cheeks, one after the other.

“Are you going to actually kiss me?” Louis complains and tries to turn his head. Nick holds him still and kisses the side of his mouth. “I’ve gone two weeks without being properly snogged and you’re kissing my forehead instead.”

“It’s _cute_. Domestic.”

“I don’t want cute. I want filthy kisses and maybe some sex. And then we can be cute.”

“You’ve got a one track mind, don’t you.”

Louis tries to lean forward but Nick leans out of his way.

“I’m going to push you off the bed if you do not kiss me this very second, Nicholas Grimshaw.”

“Always so impatient,” he breathes but gives in. Louis sighs into the kiss, body going loose like he’d been tense for two weeks and just now can relax. Nick licks into his mouth, tasting coffee and sleep and _Louis,_ dropping down to his elbows for a better angle. Louis wraps his arms around Nick and pulls him closer even though there’s nowhere else for him to go. They’re pressed together so there’s not even space for a breath between them, skin pressing against skin. 

 

“How’s your mum?” Nick asks later when they’re sitting at the table and eating cereal. Louis has one of Nick’s sweaters on, the sleeves pulled down over his hands, and he looks soft and comfortable.

“She’s good, yeah. So are my sisters.”

“All ninety billion.”

“Four,” Louis says icily, glaring at him over his spoon. Nick sticks his tongue out and Louis reciprocates.

“Did you mention me?” Nick says and Louis goes still, staring down at his bowl. It’s meant to be teasing but something about Louis’ reaction makes him uneasy.

“Erm, no. No, I didn’t. I meant to but it just... never came up.”

That settles heavy in Nick’s stomach, puts a lump in his throat that makes it hard to swallow.

“That’s alright, I was just joking,” he says but it sounds strange even to him. Louis gives him a tiny smile.

“I will, you know. I just need more time.”

“Secret boyfriends, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Louis echoes and puts another spoonful in his mouth. “What are we doing for New Year’s?”

“Oh, you think we’re doing something together?” Louis kicks him under the table. Nick kicks him right back. “Alexa’s having a party, if you wanted to go...?”

“Alexa?”

“Chung,” Nick says and Louis’ eyes go a bit wide.

“Of course. Who else would it be? Just Alexa Chung.”

“Are you a bit starstruck, love? Didn’t you know she was one of my friends?” Nick asks, amused. Louis kicks him again.

“I knew but I didn’t realise I’d be asked to go to a party of hers. For fucking New Year’s, no less. Bloody-- is Daisy Lowe going to be there?”

“Dunno. Alexa hasn’t said. I can’t believe you fancy my friends.”

“You’re friends with _models_.”

Nick’s seen Alexa and Daisy too many times after a night out partying, sicking up in the toilet with their makeup smudged across their faces and hair a mess. He shrugs.

“Are you coming or not?” he says finally. Louis scoops up the last bit of his cereal and sticks it in his mouth.

“Yeah, sure. I’d love to come.”

“Sick.”

 

The party’s already in full swing when Nick gets there, Louis walking beside him. He’s in his braces and red trousers, shivering in the cold.

“Didn’t you bring a jacket?” Nick wonders as they walk to the door spilling out light and Louis frowns at him.

“Forgot,” he mumbles around his teeth chattering. “And then you were yelling at me to get out the door and I forgot.”

“You forgot it was December,” he says flatly and Louis steps on his toes.

“Yes.”

“Oh my god. I’m dating an idiot.” He says it quickly and quietly, checking over his shoulder to make sure no one’s heard. They’re the only ones on the pavement.

“You’re the idiot,” he replies and moves closer to steal Nick’s body heat. Nick unwinds his scarf and hands it over.

“Here. So you don’t freeze completely to death.”

Louis wraps it around his neck happily, burrowing his chin into the fabric.

“I’m still cold.”

“Your own fault,” Nick sings back as they go up the steps into the house. It’s packed full, people clustered everywhere. Nick makes his way through them, waving at people he knows, until he finds Alexa. She’s in the kitchen, of course, with a glass of champagne in one hand and the other arm slung around a friend.

“Grimmy!” she cries when she sees him, lurching over in absurdly tall heels. “So glad you came! I thought you were busy.”

“No, just late.”

“As always,” Henry calls from his spot next to the counter and Nick flips him off.

“No one asked you, Henry,” he says but goes over to hug him anyway, smacking a kiss onto his cheek. He does the same to Alexa and she laughs. “How’ve you-- oh, who’d you bring?”

Nick glances behind him and notices Louis looking distinctly uncomfortable and a little dazed.

“That’s my, um, my friend. Louis.”

“Hiya, Louis,” Alexa says happily, slurring the _sss_ at the end. Louis starts a bit and steps forward into the circle, glancing between her and Nick. “I’m Alexa.”

“Henry,” Henry says with a little wave. “Nice to meet you. Are you an intern or summat?”

“Me? No, I’m at uni right now,” Louis says, a bit nervously. Alexa tilts her head.

“How’d you meet Grimmy, then?”

“Found him in a bar,” Nick says smoothly and gives them all a wink. “He told me I was a shit DJ and gave me music suggestions. And then he just... never left.” They all laugh but it’s stilted, and Louis’ cheeks get pink. His fingers are twitching against his trousers, restless. “Alexa, darling, can I get a drink? And I think Louis’d like one as well.”

“Of course,” she says and makes for the bar set up on the pristine counters. “Pix is acting as bartender, so you’ll be getting a cranberry vodka whether you like it or not.”

“Oh god, anyone but Pixie,” Nick complains loudly, coming up to wrap his arms around her waist. “She’s the worst.”

“I am not!” Pixie yells back and pinches his arm. “You’re lucky to have me here, really.”

“Dunno if I’d say I was _lucky,_ but I am sober so pour me one, Geldof. And one for our dear Louis here as well.”

Pixie, to her credit, doesn’t even blink, just picks a bottle of alcohol at random and pours it into two cups. She pours in some juice as well-- probably cranberry, but Nick’s not really paying too close of attention-- and presents it to them.

“To the New Year,” Nick says, holding up his cup. Alexa, Pixie, and Louis knock their glasses against his with a muted noise.

“To 2010!” cheers Alexa.

“This isn’t going to poison me, is it?” Louis asks and downs half of it without waiting for an answer. Nick follows suit.

“God, that was awful. Please don’t become a bartender, Pix. Don’t think anyone could handle it.”

“Oh, shut up,” she says, rolling her eyes and shoving at his shoulder. It jostles him into Louis and Louis puts a quick hand to his waist to steady him. His hand’s gone almost as soon as it’s there, and Nick feels oddly cold in its absence.

“Another one, Pix? But different this time.” She makes him something blue and electric before getting distracted by someone else and wandering away. Alexa’s gone too, chatting with Alex Turner, and they’ve got a corner to themselves for a moment. 

“I don’t know if that looks good or not,” says Louis, looking doubtfully at his drink. Taking a sip, Nick shrugs.

“It’s coconut, I think. It’s fine, it’s alcohol. Pixie’s done a lot worse.”

“It’s going to stain your lips blue,” Louis points out and lifts his hand to swipe away something on Nick’s lip. Nick kisses his finger quickly and then nips at it so Louis snatches his hand away.

“You’re mean,” he says, but he’s laughing. “Give us a drink then, sharing is caring.” 

“Don’t you hate coconut?” Nick wonders, but he hands it over anyway. Louis looks startled.

“Uh, yeah. But like you said, it’s alcohol.” He takes a sip and screws up his face, shaking his head and giving it back. “Gross, no, don’t like that. Not at all, ugh.”

“Told you so,” Nick says, smiling smugly into his glass as Louis flips him off. He still looks tense, twitchy. 

“Alright there, love?”

“You’ve got some intimidating friends. Bloody hell.”

Nick rubs a hand down his back soothingly, humming something low and probably off tune. 

“They’re just people, love. They don’t bite.”

“I do,” Louis mumbles rebelliously and he nips at Nick’s shirt.

“Mm, yes, you’re very fierce. Ouch, hey!”

“Serves you right.”

“You’ve got sharp teeth,” Nick complains, pinching at his side a little. Louis flinches and moves back out of Nick’s space. He takes in a few deep breaths and squares his shoulders.

“I’m going to go dance, yeah? Come find me when you’re done with that,” Louis tells him, setting his drained cup on the counter. He leans over and catches Nick’s mouth with his own, kissing him fiercely. “You taste like coconut.”

“No shit,” Nick mumbles and sticks his tongue at his retreating back. 

Nick finds someone almost immediately that he recognizes and strikes up a chat with after Louis disappears. Nick’s not too worried about him; he’s magnetic and will doubtless find a way to effortlessly charm the entire room until they’re as love with him as he is.

Not that Nick’s in love with Louis. They’ve only been dating for two months, he can’t be in love. That would be infatuation, not love. It’s ridiculous, is what it is.

“Nick, darling, are you alright?” Aimee asks, looking concerned in front of him. He shakes his head and focuses back on her face.

“Err, yeah. I’m just. Drunk.” She lets out a laugh, tipping forward a little and catching herself on his arm. She’s probably more than a bit drunk as well. “I didn’t know you were going to be here, by the way.” 

“I texted you a dozen times, Nick. Honestly.” 

“Did you?” 

“Mhmm,” she says, dragging the sound out. “I wanted to know if I should come over to get ready or not, like usual. You didn’t answer.” 

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry. I thought I said something but I must’ve forgotten to reply."

“How could you forget me, Grimmy? Do I mean that little to you?”

“Aimee, I’ve just been busy. Slipped my mind, see?” He taps it to prove his point and manages to spill rum on his head. “Oh fuck, that was a mistake. Did I get any on you?”

She checks and shakes her head, already going for a napkin. He takes it gratefully and wipes himself as best he can. “S’cuse me, love, I’m going to go find the bathroom and wash this off,” he tells her, accepting a kiss and giving her one of his own. He catches her on the side of the mouth, just narrowly avoiding her bright lipstick. It’s already smudged off enough on his cheek, he needn’t get any on his mouth as well.

He wets one of the hand towels and runs it through his hair and down his face. It doesn’t get rid of the stickiness completely, but it certainly helps. He scrubs at the lipstick stain on his cheek then deposits the towel in the tub for Alexa to find later.

He nearly stumbles over Louis on his way out. He’s sitting on the floor with his legs out and his head tipped back, staring at the ceiling.

“Tomlinson, what’s wrong?”

His eyes slide over to Nick and something flickers in them briefly. He smiles.

“Nothing. Just tired.”

“So you’ve sat on the floor? There’s chairs somewhere.”

“Mm, yeah. I needed a breather,” Louis wraps his hands around Nick’s. Nick hauls him up without too much effort, even in his half-hazy state.

Louis looks up at him, hands tucked away behind his back, and rocks up on his toes.

“It’s nearly midnight,” he says quietly. Nick nods, dimly registering counting going on behind him. Louis rocks closer.

“Goodbye 2009,” Nick says just as quietly. The number’s on three now and Louis’ mouth is very, very red. He can’t look away from it. 

They’re in a back hallway of Alexa’s house, tucked away with people not four meters from them. No one knows they’re dating and anyone could sneak up on them without any warning. Nick tells himself firmly to look away, to not think about Louis, his _boyfriend,_ and New Year’s snogs. 

But he’s _right there._

And then they count reaches zero, and they’re kissing, and fireworks explode. Nick’s not sure if it’s the champagne or the illicit aspect to it, but it sends little shivers of electricity down his spine. They’re half in the shadows, tucked up into a wall, and they’re not stopping anytime soon. 

“Sorry, I just--” Nick pulls away so quickly he loses his breath, head spinning and heart racing. Aimee’s staring at him with a shocked expression, her jacket in her hand. “Grimmy? Louis?” 

Nick can’t speak. He honestly cannot make a sound leave his throat, and he’s not sure what to do. 

“I was just putting this back and I didn’t mean to… you’re not just a friend of his, are you?” That part’s addressed to Louis, who glances at Nick quickly but doesn’t open his mouth.

“He’s my boyfriend,” Nick says woodenly. It’s like someone else is speaking for him, like he doesn’t have control of the words. “Since the end of October.” 

Aimee is clearly too drunk for this but she’s trying, tilting her head to the side and evaluating them both. 

“October? Nick, I’ve seen you so much since then and you’ve not said anything.” 

“It’s a secret?” 

“Thought we didn’t keep secrets,” she says after a moment. She’s not quite glaring at them, but it’s close. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“I don’t understand.” Nick starts to explain but she holds up a hand and he stops. “I’ve got to get back to this party and you’re obviously busy. Tell me in the morning, yeah? We’ll meet for brunch. Promise me.” 

“Promise.” 

She nods once, firmly, and seemingly melts back into the party. Nick lets out a deep breath, feeling something unclench in his chest, and turns to Louis. He’s been uncharacteristically silent through the whole thing, just watching the exchange. Raising an eyebrow when Nick meets his gaze, he jerks his head towards the door. 

“Fancy leaving? I’m knackered, me.” 

“Yeah.” He’s too drunk and too exhausted to feel much of anything. He leans heavily on Louis as they leave, watching silently as he flags down a taxi. The cabbie’s got on a hat and he’s blasting pop music that Nick’s too tired to recognize. Louis does, though, and he hums under his breath, singing when the chorus comes round. 

“You’ve got a nice voice,” Nick mumbles, slumped against his boyfriend. Louis goes silent. “I mean it, I do.” 

“You’re hilarious,” says Louis and drags his fingers through his quiff. He’s probably ruining it but it feels so nice that Nick decides not to say anything. Besides, they’re just going home to bed. 

There, in the quiet dark, listening to Louis’ voice and feeling his absentminded hands, Nick think he might love him. Really love him, not just infatuation. 

It’s terrifying, honestly, and the words threaten to spill out but Nick’s got enough sense to press his lips closed. He’s not _that_ drunk. 

“Nick,” Louis murmurs, low and rumbly, “Nicholas, we’re home.” 

“Mmhm,” he breathes and somehow manages to get his loose limbs in enough order to spill out of the cab. Louis’ arm goes back around his waist in a steadying, soothing way. “Wait--” 

He pivots on his heel and crashes into Louis, winding his arms around his shoulders. Louis takes a second to respond but then he’s hugging him back just as hard. Nick presses his cheek to the top of his head and breathes in, feels something in his body settle. 

“Alright?” Louis asks and he nods, dropping a kiss on the top of Louis’ hair. Louis gives him a little smile and shoves the door open. They undress without speaking, dropping their clothes in a pile next to the bed, and climb under the duvet. 

Louis curls up on the side, a good half metre between his body and Nick’s, and Nick reaches out his hand. 

“You’re so far away,” he says forlornly, and Louis shifts a bit closer. He’s still not where Nick’s used to him being, all pressed up into each other and sharing body heat, but he’s close enough for Nick to drape his arm around. 

He goes to sleep with his arm stretched out, feet too hot without Louis’ cold ones on them, and body too cold without Louis’ warmth. 

 

Nick wakes up just in time to watch Louis put his shirt on, already almost fully dressed, and moving quietly around the room. _Quietly_ is a new one for Louis. He’s not usually careful and neither is Nick in the mornings. 

Louis snags his phone and wallet from the nightstand and glances over to where Nick’s still half asleep, squinting lazily in the light. With a tiny sigh, he leans over and kisses Nick’s forehead. It’s so light Nick barely feels it, just a brush of lips before Louis straightens and goes out the door. 

 

He doesn’t hear from Louis for a full day. Texts go unanswered and Nick eventually gives up, throwing his phone on his bed and leaving it there. He decides to clean instead; his flat’s a tip. 

Gillian’s a relatively neat person, but Louis more than makes up for her cleanliness. At least he tries to contain his shit to Nick’s bedroom, but there’s still cups of tea on the coffee table and clothes pushed under the sofa. He’s got this awful habit of forgetting where he left his clothes and nicking Nick’s to wear back to his own flat. Nick’s wardrobe is half as big as it used to be.

He picks up a sweatshirt of Louis’, ratty but super soft, and after a moment’s thought, slips it over his head. It fits him decently enough and it smells like his boyfriend.

Fuck, his boyfriend. His boyfriend who is currently refusing to talk to him, and Nick’s not got a good idea why.

_are you upset?_

_**no,**_ Louis texts back, an hour later. It makes everything so much worse. 

_you sure?_

_**no** _

Gillian comes in before Nick’s figured out what to say and he welcomes her distraction, chucking his phone down again and resolving not to look at it again. He drapes himself on her back and makes it hard to unload her bags. She chides him mercilessly, but she’s giggling through it all so she’s probably not too bothered. 

“Look, I bought lactose free milk for you,” she says, flashing him the carton before putting it in the refrigerator. “And also chocolate cereal for Louis.” 

“Oh. That’s really kind of you.” 

“I’m a saint, yes. Where is Louis, by the way?” 

Nick picks up a thing of sugar and puts it away in the cupboard, avoiding Gillian’s eyes. 

“He’s, erm, at his flat. I think.”

“That’s a surprise. He’s never there, not really.” 

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder, doesn’t it?” Nick asks lightly and puts away the flour. Gillian’s hand lands on his shoulder, comforting and grounding, and he lets himself lean into the touch for a second. “I think he’s angry at me. M’not sure why.” 

“Did something happen at the party?” 

Nick thinks about Aimee catching them kissing, at the way he’d reacted and the way Louis hadn’t. 

“Yeah, something small.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks softly and he shakes his head. 

“I’d really rather not. Can we watch something on the telly instead?” 

“Of course, love. Whatever you want.”

He’s filled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude for his flatmate and he spins around to give her a tight hug. 

“You’re the best, Gellz. The absolute best,” he says and kisses her cheek. “If I were straight, I think I’d like to date you.” 

She wrinkles her nose.

“Thank god you’re not.” 

“Hey!” 

“I love you, but I think we’d rather be an awful pair. Stick to the boys, yeah?” She pats him lightly on the arm. “I think there’s leftover cake in the refrigerator, if you want some. It’s chocolate.”

“You know the way to my heart,” Nick tells her earnestly as he gets out a plate. 

Gillian rolls her eyes and disappears to her room, calling over her shoulder: “It’s just food. Not really that difficult.” 

“Why can’t I date you?” he whines.

“Cause we’d kill each other immediately,” she yells back. “And also, I don’t think Louis would like that very much. He really fancies you, you know. You can just tell.” 

Nick makes a face, pretending his stomach isn’t in knots at the mention of his name. 

“Thought we agreed not to talk about it.” 

“You’re right, you’re right. M’sorry.” 

“I think I’ll forgive you,” he says magnanimously as he goes into the lounge. She’s already on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket and the remote on her lap. “What are we watching?” 

“You pick,” she says and holds up the remote. “But nothing trashy.” 

“I would never, Gillian,” he says as he settles on an old episode of _Keeping Up with the Kardashians._ She rolls her eyes but doesn’t complain. Cuddling up to her on the sofa, he kisses her hair. “Thank you.”

 

Louis is slumped on the step to Nick’s flat, listening to music on his phone. He’s staring rather intensely at his feet, so Nick just watches him for a second or two.

He’s got his hair pushed to the side again, jeans rolled up at the ankles despite it being fucking _January_ , and a scarf bundled up around his neck. It’s probably Nick’s scarf but Nick doesn’t really mind. 

Finally, he shakes himself and goes up to Louis, knocking a foot against his. Louis starts and pulls out his headphones, glancing up with a half-smile.

“Hey,” he says. “You took for-fucking-ever. I’ve been sitting out here for ages.”

Nick tilts his head to the side, squinting a little. He doesn’t seem like he’s mad and Nick’s not quite sure what’s going on. 

“Have you now? I don’t remember inviting you, so maybe it’s your own fault,” he says lightly and Louis rolls his eyes.

“Well, I didn’t know you were going to be out. You’re usually not, at this time.”

Nick freezes fumbling through his keys.

“That’s because I, uh, was out. Had brunch with someone.”

Behind him, Nick can feel Louis go still as well. He doesn’t look at him.

“With who?”

“Aimee.”

“Was she--”

“The one who caught us? Yeah, she was.” He swallows hard and starts searching through his keys again. Fucking hell, why does he have so many bloody keys?

“How did that go?” He’s cautious and Nick hates that tone of voice, especially from him. “Telling Aimee, I mean.”

“Well, I told one of my oldest friends about my boyfriend that I’ve been keeping a secret. How do you think it went?” he snaps, fingers shaking.

“Jesus, Nick, I was just asking. Trying to be supportive,” Louis says crossly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You could’ve just said _fine_ or _not fine_ and I would’ve left it. Besides, it’s not like you committed murder or summat. You just told her you had a boyfriend. She’s not going to disown you for that.”

“She was right upset.”

“Well, yeah, cause you didn’t _tell_ her for two and a half months. I’d be upset too, if my best mate was dating someone and I didn’t know about it.” 

“Doesn’t that kind of defeat the point of secret boyfriends?” Nick asks and Louis gives him a strange sort of look.

“I didn’t realise we were keeping it a secret from _everybody_.”

“Oh, don’t give me that shit,” Nick snarls, harsher than he meant to, but he can’t quite stop. “You haven’t even told your mum, let alone all your mates, so why are you giving me shit for being upset mine know?”

“Because I don’t live close to my mum,” Louis shoots back. “We’re not going to parties with my mum. And I’m going to tell her _eventually._ ”

“ _Really_?”

Louis glares at him, crossing his arms over his body. “Yes, really. Are you going to tell your friends eventually?”

“Probably. I don’t know.”

“I don’t understand what the big deal is! If they already know you’re gay, why do you care if they know we’re dating?” Nick doesn’t reply, just runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. Louis’ hands drop to his sides and a thoughtful expression slides across his face. “Is it me? Are you ashamed to be dating me?”

“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous, but that’s the only reason I can possibly think of. You’re ashamed of me, aren’t you?”

“I am _not_!” Nick protests but it doesn’t sound convincing even to his own ears. He sighs and sits on the step, rubbing at his temples. “I’m not, I promise. Alright?”

“Then _why_ \--”

“It’s not important.”

“Of course it’s important, Nicholas. It’s our _relationship_.”

Nick doesn’t mean to let out a snort, but he does and that only makes Louis madder.

“Fuck you, honestly,” he bites out, actually stamping his foot. Nick only just manages not to roll his eyes. “Just tell me, yeah? Don’t go bottling shit up.”

“That’s funny, coming from _you._ ”

Louis narrows his eyes dangerously.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Nick stands up again, feeling slightly proud of the fact that he can tower over Louis while telling him off.

“You talk all the time and yet when it comes to important things, you stay mum. Why don’t you tell me you’re upset with me instead of being all passive aggressive and shit?”

“What the fuck do you think I’m doing right now?” Louis yells and Nick offhandedly sends up a silent apology to the neighbors that are no doubt hearing all of this. “Am I not letting you know how I feel?”

“Only because I fucking made you!”

“Yeah, by acting ashamed around your posh mates that I, a no-good teenager from fucking _Doncaster_ , was your boyfriend,” Louis says sarcastically and Nick’s stomach twists unpleasantly. “Sorry it’s just me, and not some knob from Primrose Hill with a penthouse and a wanky scarf for every outing.” 

“That’s not... that’s not what I think.”

“Well, you fucking act like it.”

“It’s not that, okay? I wish I could explain it, but I can’t. I’m not ashamed of you but I’m… worried.” He drops down on the step, his knees abruptly feeling like they can’t hold him up anymore.

“About what?” demands Louis, still standing and practically vibrating with anger.

“Dunno. That you’ll find someone better and fuck off, and I’m left to explain to my friends what’s going on.”

“Why do you think I’d do that?”

Nick makes a noise down in his throat, waving a hand up and down Louis’ body. “You’re _nineteen,_ Louis. Nineteen, and I’m fucking twenty four. of course you’re going to find someone better-- I know I would’ve if I was your age. You’re still like _so young_ and I know I’m not, like, old but still. Different places, yeah? I get it.”

“Are you... trying to make me break up with you?”

“No, I’m just saying if you _did_ , that I would understand.” 

“Why the fuck would I do that? I’m in love--” Louis cuts himself off and goes silent, staring down at his feet again. He’s gone bright red, and there’s a sick feeling swirling around in Nick’s stomach. Maybe he’ll be sick. That would be a distraction, right, and it wouldn’t be hard to make himself vom. Wouldn’t even need to force it, really. It’s all there burning his throat.

“Louis,” Nick says slowly, twisting his fingers together. Louis refuses to look at him, and Nick’s still sitting on the stupid fucking step. He nudges Louis’ foot with his own. “What did you just say?”

“Nothing,” Louis mutters, jaw clenched. Nick stands slowly, feeling like he’s underwater. He puts his hand on Louis’ cheek, thumbing at his jaw until he meets his eyes. 

“Louis,” Nick says again, looking straight at him. “Are you in love with me?”

Louis blinks twice, chewing on his tongue and seeing very lost. Finally, he drops his gaze down as far as he can with Nick’s hand still holding him in place. 

“Sort of, yeah.”

Nick runs the other hand through his hair. It’s quiet, so fucking quiet, and he feels like he might scratch off his skin. 

“I don’t know what to say.” 

Something flashes across Louis’ face for a second and he jerks his head out of Nick’s grasp. “I gotta... I’ve got to go,” he breathes out, backing away and running off down the street.

Nick watches, frozen in his spot, until he can’t seen him anymore. He flexes his hand, finds his keys, unlocks his door, and promptly throws up in the kitchen sink.

Spitting the taste out, he wipes his mouth off on his hand and fills a cup with water. He chugs that, wincing as it hits his stomach. 

God, he hates fighting. He hates it so much. 

His phone buzzes with a new message and he fishes it out of his pocket for something to do, a tiny flicker of hope in his mind that it’s Louis. It’s not. It’s Aimee. 

_**your boyfriend is nineteen.** _

**__** _yes, aims. i’m aware_

_**that’s five years. and a half.** _

**__** _god, i know you don’t have to lecture me about it_

_**i still can’t get around it.** _

He spits again; he can still faintly taste the sick at the back of his throat. Water’s not going to do much so he pulls a bottle of Diet Coke out and sips at that instead. 

_well it doesn’t matter cos we just had a fight_

_**do you want me to come over there?** _

**__** _if you could yeah_

_**be right over** _

Aimee brings a bottle of red wine, a pint of ice cream, and Thurston. She’s really the best person Nick knows.

“Do you know,” she says when she’s scooping the ice cream into bowls, “that there’s wine ice cream? It gets you drunk, too.”

“That’s incredible. Wish we had some.”

“We could put some vanilla in our wine. Make a chardonnay float or something.” She takes a sip of her wine and makes a face. “I don’t think that would taste good, though. Let’s stick with this.”

Nick sticks a spoonful in his mouth and winces at the cold. It doesn’t give him brain freeze, but it came close.

“Louis told me he was in love with me,” he mumbles around the mouthful. Aimee drops her own spoon. It clatters across the counter, leaving little puddles of chocolate everywhere.

“What?”

“During the fight. He said he was in love with me.” Thurston licks up the ice cream that drips onto the floor. Nick’s pretty sure chocolate’s harmful to dogs, but Aimee doesn’t seem too bothered. Maybe it’s such a tiny amount and it won’t hurt him.

“How did you take it?”

Nick laughs bitterly and downs half the glass of wine. “Three guesses, love.”

“I’m sorry.”

“My own fault. I’m stupid, really.”

“You’re infatuated is you are,” Aimee tells him, tapping him on the nose and stealing a bite out of his bowl. “And with a fucking teenager.”

“S’part of the problem,” Nick says glumly. “He’s so young and I’m so... not.”

“You’re twenty four.”

“Well, not young _enough_.”

“Did he say that?” Aimee asks, voice sharp. Nick shakes his head.

“No, but I know better. Give it a year, and he’ll realise.”

She leans against the counter and crosses his arms, regarding him with a gentle look. Thurston noses at his socked feet, breath warm on Nick’s toes, and he leans down to scritch at his ears.

“I think that you’re too hard on yourself,” she says quietly.

“He said ‘I’m in love with you’ and I said ‘I don’t know what to say’ and then he ran off. I mucked it up, god.” He buries his face in Thurston’s fur and breathes in his doggy smell. It’s comforting, even if it’s kind of gross.

“Oh, Nick,” Aimee says, aghast. “You’re in love with him too.”

“I never said that.”

“Yeah, but I can tell. God, you’re an idiot.”

“Wow, thank you Aimee. Exactly what I needed right now,” he tells her sarcastically, standing up and wincing when his knees crack. He pours himself another full glass of wine. “Stellar best friend work.”

“You let him run off and think that you rejected him. That was pretty idiotic of you.”

“I didn’t reject him,” he says, sullen, and ignores her eye roll by scooping up some of his liquefying ice cream. “I love him.”

It’s the first time he’s said the words out loud and they sound strange to his ears, ringing like they take up too much space in the room.

“Yeah, but Louis doesn’t know that.”

“I think he’d be pretty blind not to realise it, honestly.”

“You also didn’t say anything to him and let him run off. That sounds a lot like rejection in anyone’s book.” She shakes her head and takes another sip of wine. “Goodness, Grim. You’re truly not good at relationships, are you?” 

“S’true.” He sighs. “God, I’ve got to apologize now, don’t I?”

She leans over and brushes hair away from his forehead, fingers soothing against his skin.

“Yeah, you do. And probably tell him you love him too, unless you want him to break up with you.”

“I don’t think I want that.”

“Then you’d better think of a fucking amazing apology.” 

 

Nick does not think of an amazing apology. He actively _doesn’t_ think about it instead, choosing to get wine-drunk with Aimee and lie on the floor, moaning. Thurston snores next to his head, dripping drool on the floor.

And then, the next day, he chooses to go to work and then out to a club with Pixie. They’re in the VIP seating, getting tipsy from the tequila and Nick can pretend he’s not upset. They commandeer the DJ booth for a while and play the strangest combination of music until they get kicked out again. Pixie keeps pressing glass after glass into his hand and he drinks them happily, letting the alcohol dull everything in him.

 

It’s only natural that the club they end up in at the end of the night is near Louis’, so it’s only natural that Nick stumbles his way over there instead of going back home. It’s cheaper, and closer, and sleeping with Louis is so much better than sleeping alone.

He lets himself in and trips down the hallway toward Louis’ flat. The door’s locked.

“Louis,” he shouts, banging on it. “Louis, let me in! Loui--” He nearly falls flat on the face as someone swings open the door.

“It’s three in the morning,” Louis says and Nick’s not so drunk that he can’t hear the anger in his tone. “What do you want?”

“Missed you.”

“God, are you wasted?”

Nick holds his fingers an inch apart and shows his hands to him. “Little bit.” Louis rolls his eyes. “C’n I stay here? Missed you.”

“Yeah, you said that already,” Louis bites out, but he pulls Nick inside anyway. There’s someone glaring from a doorway. “Sorry, Clara. I’ll make him be quiet.” The girl harrumphs and disappears back into her own room.

“Why was she upset?”

“Cos it’s three in the morning and you’re making a bloody racket.”

“Oh. Didn’t mean to. I just--”

“Missed me, I know,” Louis finishes. He drops Nick’s wrist as soon as they get to his room, beginning to rummage through the piles of his clothes. Nick stares at him for a second.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Yes, Nicholas. I am.” He straightens, a shirt in his hand and drops it on the bed. “C’mon, I don’t have all night.”

“Why ’re you upset?” Nick asks, hiccuping sadly. Louis sighs, reaching out to unbutton Nick’s top.

“We fought, don’t you remember?” His voice is bitter and his fingers are cold. He doesn’t look up at Nick as he helps.

“Oh.” Nick does remember, now. It’s the reason he’s drunk, after all. “D’you want me to leave? I c’n leave.”

“You’re half-naked, now. Might as well stay,” Louis grumbles, not-so-gently helping Nick into the shirt. It’s soft and smells like Louis, even though Nick’s pretty sure it’s one of his own ones. “Trousers off.”

“I didn’t want to fight with you.” There’s so many words swirling through Nick’s head that he can barely make sense of them all, barely decide what he wants to say first. “S’not fun. I don’t want to do it again.”

“Yeah, well. Stop being a prat and we’ll see how it goes.”

“Are you still my boyfriend?”

Louis stiffens, naked back turned toward Nick. He doesn’t like that; he wants to be able to see Louis’ face. He loves Louis.

“Do you want me to be your boyfriend?” Louis asks. Nick sits down on the bed heavily, his legs too shaky to hold him up anymore, and pouts.

“I want you to be my boyfriend always,” he says. “I didn’t like it when you left.”

“Didn’t think you wanted me around,” Louis says after a second. He pulls on his pyjamas and turns back to Nick. “Not after what I said.”

“You don’t love me,” Nick tells him mournfully. “You’re just infach--infatchu--infatuated.” He hiccups again and nearly misses the way Louis’ mouth twists into something painful. “You don’t love me. You’re gonna get bored in a few months and realise.”

“I wish you’d let me make that decision for myself instead of making it for me,” Louis snaps but he seems to reconsider after a moment. “We’ll talk about this in the morning, yeah? When you’re not drunk and crying on my bed at half past three.”

“I’m not crying,” Nick mumbles with a sniff. His eyes are a little watery, but Louis doesn’t need to know that.

“Whatever you say, Nicholas. Go to sleep, yeah?” He flips off the light and slides into bed next to Nick, pulling the duvet up around them both. Nick’s pressed up against the wall and Louis is pressed up next to him; Louis’ bed is smaller than Nick’s is and they have to sleep close to make sure they don’t fall off.

Louis’ back is to him, and he feels so far away even though there’s barely a finger’s space between them. Nick shivers.

“Lou, can you... I miss you,” he says again desperately. He’s alarmingly close to tears again. “You’re so far away.”

“I’m right here.”

He’s not, not really, and Nick feels frozen to his core.

“Louis.”

Louis twists carefully so they’re face to face, wrinkling his nose.

“You smell like alcohol.”

“That’ll be the club,” Nick tells him and watches as his lips tip up in the smallest shadow of a smile. “Can you-- can you hug me?”

It’s this desperate thing in his chest, this intense emptiness that suddenly overpowering, and he feels like he’s going to fall to pieces if Louis doesn’t hold him together. Louis flinches, but nods, and winds his arms around Nick’s body. Nick buries his face in his shoulder and tries to remember how to breathe. He smells warm and sharp and Nick hadn’t even thought people could have a distinctive scent, but Louis does. He can’t even name what it smell like, it’s just _Louis Louis Louis._

He breathes in again and Louis’ arms go tighter, like he knows that Nick’s falling apart. Nick loves him for it, loves him so much. It thrums in his blood and flutters in his stomach, and it’s all he can think about, feeling like it’s going to burst from him if he doesn’t say something at that very instant.

“I love you,” he mumbles into Louis’ skin, right above his heart, and none of the pressure releases.

 

He wakes up feeling like actual death, too hot and mouth tasting like something furry had crawled in while he was sleeping and died on his tongue. He’s sweaty, and his hair’s a mess, and he’s got the beginning of a raging headache beating at his temples, and worst of all he’s alone in Louis’ tiny bed.

“Shit,” he says to the ceiling, feeling the weight of his bad decisions drop on him like bricks. “Shit.”

It takes a massive effort for him to lurch onto his side, but his stomach’s rebelling and threatening to vom all over the sheets. Louis’ sheets aren’t the cleanest, per se, but he’d probably object to sick on them. Nick runs for the bathroom and makes it just in time to heave over the toilet. He’s really tired of vomit.

There’s a glass of water with a sticky note on the bedside table, and Nick chugs half of it before reading what Louis has written.

_i’ll be back sometime around ten. don’t care if you’re here or not. you’re an idiot. - L_

He’d drawn a smiley face with x’s for eyes at the bottom. Nick runs his finger over the letters before folding it up and putting the note in his pocket.

He’s looking for his phone when there’s a loud noise announcing Louis’ return. Nick glances up from where he’s kneeling to see Louis staring, dressed in grass-stained shorts with his hair sticking to his head. He’s got a football under one arm and a carefully blank expression on his face. 

“I thought you’d have left by now,” he says carefully, adjusting the ball so he’s got a better grip on it. Nick straightens and holds up his phone.

“Thought I would have too, really. Had to grab this first.” 

“Ah.” Louis tosses the ball into the corner, where it bounces onto a pile of clothes. He plucks at his shirt absentmindedly, pulling it away from his body. “Well, I was just going to eat something if you wanted to join.”

“What are you going to eat?”

“There’s pizza in the fridge.”

“You’re joking,” Nick says without thinking. Louis frowns.

“Pizza is good for breakfast.”

“I haven’t had pizza for breakfast since I was about eighteen.”

“Well,” Louis says, giving him a slight smile and _fuck._ “I don’t have any money, so unless you’re going to buy my food, pizza is good enough.”

“I could,” Nick says quickly and Louis drops his bag. “We haven’t, like, gone _out_ much but yeah. I would love that.”

Louis whirls around, looking angry, and Nick involuntarily takes a step back.

“What, take me on a date to prove you aren’t ashamed? Is that what this is?”

“No--”

“See if I have any manners in public? See if I can do alright in some posh diner with too many forks and all the items in fucking French?”

“Of course not,” Nick shoots back, throwing his hands up. Louis scowls at him, his arms folded tightly against his body. He’s still in his sweaty footie clothes, his hair’s sticking every which way, and _god_ Nick shouldn’t want to kiss him as much as he does. “Don’t be so fucking defensive, christ. I wanted to do something nice, alright? It’s not proving anything except that I fucking want to be your boyfriend and take you on dates. That’s what people do when they’re _dating_ isn’t it? Or has that changed and no one’s told me?”

Louis scowl deepens, chin rising defensively and glaring daggers at him. He’s not sure where this antagonism came from and he can’t help the annoyance that runs through him.

“Fine,” Louis grinds out and Nick rubs at his head. This is not doing anything for his headache.

“Please don’t be stroppy all through breakfast,” he pleads. “I don’t think I could handle it. Also, can I have some paracetamol?”

“No,” he grumbles, but he rummages through a drawer and throws a bottle at Nick’s head. Nick catches it, just barely. “Can I change first, or do you have to go right this moment?”

“I’m not going to stop you,” Nick says with a shrug. He swallows two of the pills dry. Louis bends down and snags a pair of trackies and a shirt, glancing quickly at Nick before shaking his head. Turning away from Nick, he strips quickly with jerky movements. Nick doesn’t watch, feeling awkward the entire time.

“Okay, I’m ready,” says Louis when he’s fully clothed. He pushes a hand through his hair and shakes it out so it falls in front of his eyes again. “Where do you want to go?’

“What’s close by?”

“McDonalds.”

“Anything else?”

“Do I look like I know of anywhere else that sells breakfast?” Louis asks scornfully. “The only reason I’m awake right now is because they wouldn’t play footie anytime later.”

“Alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist. We can go to McDonalds, if that’s what you want?”

“Good for a hangover, innit?” Louis raises his eyebrow.

“Fuck, that does sound good. Yeah, let’s go.” He grabs his jacket and pulls it on, waiting patiently for Louis to lock up. The walk is only a few minutes long, and neither of them talk. It’s awkward and weird, and that makes Nick fidgety because it’s always been _easy_ between them. Never this cold uncertainty. 

Louis orders eight nuggets and a Coke, Nick orders a Diet Coke and a cheeseburger, and they sit in the booth in the corner. Louis chews his food angrily and refuses to look at him. Nick’s starting to realise that Louis shows his anger by refusing to acknowledge people’s existence. It’s not fun. 

“How many times do I have to apologise?” Nick asks quietly, when the silence is too maddening for him to stand another minute. Louis glares at his chips. 

“Well, once would be a good start.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says instantly and Louis’ expression gets darker. 

“Wow, I could really tell you meant that. I’m overwhelmed by your sincerity, mate,” he says harshly. Nick rubs at his still-aching head. 

“Would you stop being a dick for one moment and let me finish? God, it’s like you _like_ being mad at me.” 

“Why shouldn’t I be mad at you? You’re the one that’s being a first class fucking arsehole, not me.” 

“I’m not refusing to talk to you--” 

“No, you did that enough for the past two days,” Louis snaps and Nick shuts his mouth. “So go on. I want to hear it.” He slouches in his chair and folds his arms, raising an eyebrow and watching Nick. Nick swallows, wishing he hadn’t eaten his cheeseburger so quickly. 

“I don’t do _boyfriends,_ ” he says finally, playing with the straw wrapper. “Never have. Not real good at committment, me.” 

“You don’t say,” mutters Louis sarcastically. Nick gives him a look and he slumps back again. 

“I’m insecure, I’m flighty, and I don’t do emotions. Well, not my own emotions. I’m pretty decent at hearing other people’s, and like, giving advice but that’s not relevant. I like you-- an awful amount, really-- but I just… don’t know what to do with myself. And you caught me off guard.”

“My mum would say you’re making excuses instead of apologizing,” Louis says. Nick sighs. 

“Aimee says I need a really fucking good apology.” 

“Yeah, well. I hope that wasn’t it.” 

“It wasn’t. Promise,” Nick says. Louis makes a little _go on_ motion with his hands and Nick sighs again, making a face. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry if I ever made you feel less than me. And I’m sorry I froze when you said--” 

“Can we, um, not talk about that part?” Louis says, going red. He focuses on pushing around the ketchup on his plate with a chip. “I don’t want to talk about what I said.” 

“Oh. Well, yeah, that’s fine. I don’t, um. I don’t want to talk about it either.” He does, but Louis looks like he’ll melt into the floor from embarrassment if Nick pushes. 

“Good.” 

“I’m sorry,” Nick tells him again, as sincerely as he can. 

“I’m sorry too,” Louis mumbles after a moment. “I’m an all or nothing kind of person, yeah? And I know I’m, like, a lot and I-- I’m sorry I got mad.” 

“We should probably work on communicating better. That might help a bit.” 

“Oh god. You talk far too much already.” 

“Louis,” Nick says, exasperated and Louis blows out a breath. “Okay fine. I’ll try to-- what did you say? Oh, ‘not bottle it all up’ and let it explode. Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He tangles their feet together under the table and watches Louis smile the tiniest bit. He feels like he’s won something. 

“I still think you’re a pretentious wanker,” Louis adds, and Nick shakes his head. 

“Wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” 

“Oi.” 

“Hush, and finish your food,” says Nick and is not entirely surprised when half of Louis’ leftover chips end up thrown at his face. He throws them back, laughing, and it nearly escalates into something larger until an unamused employee thoroughly tells them off. 

“Suppose we deserved that,” he muses as they let themselves back into Louis’ flat and Louis hums in agreement. 

“Y’know, you were supposed to give me a _fucking_ good apology,” Louis says. Nick turns to him, about to protest that his apology was spectacular, when he notices the smirk on Louis’ face. 

“God, you’re a sex pest,” Nick says even as he takes off his shirt. 

“Do you really mind?” 

“No. Not really.” 

“Knew it.” Louis grins and puts his hands on his hips. “Now, where’s my apology?” 

Laughing, Nick tugs him over to the bed and they go tumbling down onto the sheets. 

 

“Grimmy, there’s a Louis outside? He says you know him,” the intern says, twisting the hem of her jumper in between her fingers. 

“Tell him he can’t come in unless he’s brought me food.” 

The intern looks unsure, but she goes to deliver his message anyway. Louis comes in a few seconds later and deposits a takeaway cup on his desk.

“Here, brought you some coffee. Figured you’d need it.” 

“Thanks, babe,” Nick says. With a small smile, Louis comes over to sit in the wheelie chair next to him. “Do you have anything going on tonight?” 

“Figured I’d hang around with my boyfriend for a while. S’that alright?” 

“Well, you brought me coffee, so I guess.” He takes a sip of it. It’s exactly the way he likes and that thought warms him up more than the coffee did, honestly. “You’ve got to be quiet during the links, though.” 

“Naturally. Do you get in trouble if they’re not perfect?” Louis asks too casually. Nick narrows his eyes at him and pushes his chair farther away from the soundbooth. 

“Don’t touch anything.” 

“You say that to me a lot,” Louis says, eyeing a button. He puts out a finger and Nick lunges for his hands. “Give those back!” 

“Not yet,” Nick tells him, readjusting so he’s holding both of Louis’ wrists in one hand. He uses the other to fade out the music, starting to talk while Louis glares at him, lips pressed so tightly together that they’re white. “And that was Lady Gaga’s ‘Poker Face!’ Three years later, nearly, and it’s still a tune, innit? I like that one a lot. Anyway, Annie Mac’ll be on later tonight, but for now enjoy these next few tracks.” 

He lets Louis go as the music starts up again, smiling beatifically as Louis continues to glare. 

“I wasn’t going to touch anything, Nicholas,” he hisses and Nick rolls his eyes. 

“Unfortunately, I don’t trust you. You’ve got a bad track record with pushing buttons you’re not supposed to.” 

Louis sits back in his chair and scowls, lip pushing out in a pout. Nick wants to kiss him so badly. He settles for pulling his chair closer instead. 

“I have never,” Louis declares. “I have _threatened_ to, but never actually pushed one of your precious bloody buttons.” 

“Mm,” Nick says, throwing caution to the wind and leaning forward to kiss him. He can’t help it, not when Louis is so gorgeous all the time but especially now. Louis obliges for a few seconds, and then pushes him away. 

“I’m never going to be allowed back to bother you at work if you’re snogging me instead of talking.” 

Now it’s Nick’s turn to pout, but Louis is right. Unfortunately. 

They don’t kiss again, but Louis sneaks his hand into Nick’s for the entire hour left, playing with his fingers and smiling whenever Nick glances over.

His chest hurts, a little twinge, but in a good way. Like there’s so much fondness in it that it can’t but try to burst out. Nick’s pretty sure his fondness shines out of him like a bloody lighthouse, but that’s apparently not enough. It’s got to make his chest hurt as well. 

Leaning over, he sneaks one more quick kiss. It lands on the side of Louis’ mouth and Nick can feel his lips turn up in a smile under his own. 

“What was that for?” 

“Do I need a reason?” 

“Suppose not,” Louis says, still smiling softly. Nick pokes him in the side and it turns into a full blown grin. “You’re gonna miss your link if you’re not careful.” 

“Shan’t,” Nick mutters, but the timer’s dangerously close to when he needs to be on. Louis squeezes his hand and doesn’t dull his grin as Nick leans forward to talk. 

Louis comes home with him after, leaning into his side. Nick’s so tired he can barely stand up straight; an early morning and a late night do not mix. The coffee high’s gone away, and he nods off on the tube until Louis nudges him awake. 

He lets Louis take the keys and unlock the door, slumping forward so his head’s on Louis’ back. 

“You smell,” Nick says eventually and it’s half smothered by Louis’ jacket. “Maybe you should get a shower.” 

“Only if you come with me,” says Louis. Laughing, he breaks away and finally shoves the door open, pulling Nick inside as he does. “Strip, c’mon.” 

Nick does, with a little help, and Louis pushes him into the bathroom, undressing himself. 

“You’ve got a nice bum,” Nick says without thinking. Louis pauses and half-turns from where he’s turning on the tap. 

“Were you staring?” 

“Um… no?” 

“Perv,” Louis says, swatting him with his shirt. “Now get in and get yourself washed up.” 

Nick hisses when he steps in; the water’s practically hot enough to melt skin off. He fiddles with it until it’s the right temperature and then sighs, letting it wash down over his body.

Louis joins him after a second, carefully as to not slip, and smirks. 

“Nick, you didn’t take off your socks.” 

He glances down and sure enough. 

“Now I don’t have to wash them.”

“Efficient,” answers Louis and smirks when Nick bends down to peel them off. They make a squelchy sort of sound when they land on the tile and he wriggles his now-free toes in the water. “Better?” 

“Mmm, yeah. A lot better.” 

Louis goes up and kisses the tip of his nose, quick as a flash. 

“Here, I’ll wash your hair.” 

“That’s weird,” Nick mutters, but hands him the shampoo anyway. Louis sings as he lathers Nick’s hair, little mumble-songs about soap and water and getting clean. Nick thinks he’s made them up. “You’ve got a nice voice,” he says and Louis’ hands still. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I like it.” 

“I was Danny Zuko in my school’s production of _Grease_. Had a solo n’everything.” 

“Did you wear a leather jacket?” 

“Of course. It was quite an experience. Almost studied drama because of it, really.” 

“But you chose psychology instead.” 

“Yes,” Louis says, sounding pleased. He pushes Nick under the stream of water to rinse his hair. “You remembered.” 

Nick peers at him, frowning. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Dunno. I don’t talk about it much.” 

They switch places so Louis can get under the water now, Nick shivering in the draft. 

“Why not?” 

“Thought you’d be bored of it, honestly,” Louis says with a shrug, turning the handle on the faucet and reaching for a towel. “What with you hating school and all.” 

“I didn’t know that you could sing, either.” 

“I don’t do that much anymore.” 

“You should,” Nick says, dropping his towel on Louis’ head. He rubs it vigorously and grins when Louis pulls it off. His hair’s sticking up every which way, and he’s scowling. “You’ve got a nice voice.” 

“You said that already.” 

“I meant it.”

“You’re making me blush,” Louis complains, ducking his head. “Now c’mon, before you fall asleep on your feet.” He pulls on his pyjama trousers and pads into the bedroom, rubbing at his goosepimply arms. Nick follows. 

“You know, you’d be warmer if you wore a shirt.” 

“Yeah, but then I’ll get hot in the night. I prefer stealing your body heat, thank you very much.” 

“It’s funny that you’re always cold because you give out heat like a bloody furnace.” 

“I contain multitudes,” Louis says grandly, jumping into the middle of the bed. He falls over onto his back and starfishes out. Nick prods at him not so gently. 

“Are you going to leave room for me?” 

“I guess I’ll give you a corner.” 

“So generous,” Nick says as Louis rolls over to the side of the bed. Louis grins.

“I’m the most generous.” 

“And the most awful.” 

“Yes,” Louis whispers as Nick switches off the lamp and leaves them in darkness. He curls up on his side and smiles when Louis curls up next to him. “Now shut up. It’s bedtime for us.” He sings the last part, ending on a half sigh, and Nick drifts off to sleep smiling. 

 

Nick gets another gig at the club near Louis’ flat and Louis tags along, tempted by the thought of stealing Nick’s free drinks. 

“What if there’s a limit to how many drinks I can get?” Nick says and Louis squints at him. 

“Is there?” 

“Well… no.” 

“Then why would it be an issue?” 

“Fair point,” admits Nick, bumping his hip into Louis’, making him stumble. “But _if--_ ” 

“Then we’d split it, fair and simple.”

“Even though I’m the one doing the work?” 

“I’m the one inspiring you, aren’t I? That’s a great deal of work, Nicholas,” Louis tells him seriously and Nick hipchecks him again. 

“Oh, fuck off. You’re not my muse.” 

“I could be!” Louis strikes a pose, hands in the air and nose too, adopting an imperious air. “See?” 

“Mm, yes, you’re an amazing muse. The best muse I could ask for. If only I was at the booth _this very second_.” 

“There you go,” Louis says approvingly, patting him on the arm. “And that’s why I deserve all your free drinks. Or, at least half.” 

“The number keeps getting bigger and bigger.” 

“They’re unlimited.” 

“In theory. They might cut me off when you nearly drink them dry.” 

Louis just grins at him, cheeky and bright.

“I’ll do my very best.” 

“I’m never going to get asked back again,” Nick bemoans and tries not to grin. “It’s going to be the end of my DJing career.” 

“More time to focus on radio. You need help with that,” Louis tells him and dances out of the way when Nick tries to swat him. “I’m joking!” 

“You’re a twat.” 

“And you’re annoying,” Louis counters and Nick rolls his eyes. 

“Old news, love. Tell me something I don’t know.” 

“My dad fucked off when I was around two and left my mum by herself.” 

Nick stops dead in his tracks, grabbing Louis’ arm to jerk him to a stop too. 

“Wait, really?” 

Louis’ face is carefully neutral and there’s very little emotion in his voice when he says, “Yeah really.” 

“Oh. That’s shitty.” 

“He’s a knobhead. But me mum’s incredible, so I’m lucky there. And my stepdad’s bloody fantastic n’all.” 

“That’s good, at least. My mum and dad made me go to school for business and then they got mad when I dropped out. Understandable, but still. It sort of hurt a bit.” 

“Unsupportive,” Louis says knowingly and then goes red. “I didn’t mean your parents are bad ones, just that they maybe didn’t get you very well. At the time.” 

“I got it, love,” Nick tells him, laughing. “You don’t need to keep clarifying.”

“I was just _making sure_. I don’t want to offend you on accident. On purpose is fine, but on accident is not.” 

Nick’s still laughing when they enter the club, pressing a quick kiss to Louis’ cheek before wandering off to find whoever’s in charge. 

“Wait,” Louis calls. “Get me a drink first.” 

He rolls his eyes but orders one anyway. It’s too early for him to get one for free-- he’s not technically working yet-- but Jake’s working.

“Hiya,” Nick says, leaning his elbows on the counter. Jake turns and raises an eyebrow. “Long time, no see.” 

“You’ve not been around,” answers Jake with a wink. His gaze sweeps up and down Nick’s body, and Nick feels himself going hot. 

“Yeah, I’ve been, um, busy.” 

“Mhm. But you’re back now, so it doesn’t matter. How can I help you? Or did you just come over to say hi?” 

“Hi,” Nick says and Jake grins at him, shaking his head. “No, actually, I came to see if I could get a pint?” 

“Starting early, eh?” 

“...sure.” 

“Tap okay?” 

“Perfect.” 

Jake slides him a pint and leans in too. 

“So, how’ve you been?”

They’re very close together with both of their elbows on the counter. Jake’s still got his scruffy beard, and his eyes are a very pretty brown, and Nick would honestly kiss him if he didn’t have a boyfriend. 

“Good. I’ve been good-- look, it was great talking to you but I need to go set up before they have my head. I don’t mean to, like, drink and dash, but….” 

“No, I get it. You’re on the clock like me. Come back if you need another one, or a minute to yourself, yeah?” He nods at the pint in Nick’s hand and Nick nods back. “I can sort you out, whatever you need.” 

“Cheers,” says Nick, tipping the glass in his direction. Jake gives a sort-of salute that really _should_ be dumb, but it’s rather endearing instead. 

Louis has got a strange sort of look on his face when Nick brings him the beer, and he keeps sending little glances towards the bar. 

“Here you go, love.” 

“Oh, thanks Nicholas,” says Louis. He looks up at Nick and frowns. “Weren’t you in a rush?” 

“Sort of, not really. Not too late that a kiss is going to get me in trouble.” 

“Well, then.” 

Louis goes up on his toes-- fuck, that should not be that hot, even now-- and wraps his arms around Nick’s neck, drawing him down. He kisses him deeply and Nick can feel it down to his knees. It’s warm and wet and the tiniest bit sharp, Louis’ teeth nipping gently at his lower lip. 

Nick’s probably red as a tomato when they break apart, breathing hard and body hot. Louis looks pleased as he sweeps his hair out of his eyes, a flush high on his cheeks. 

“What was that for?”

“Nothing,” he says smugly, eyes darting over to the side of the room. Nick looks too, but there’s no one there except Jake, who’s rinsing cups. He shrugs. 

“I’ve got to go, but have fun. Enjoy your drink.” Louis toasts him as he goes and Nick doesn’t see him for a good hour, too wrapped up in his DJing. 

He ends up back in front of Jake with a throat that’s practically as dehydrated as the Sahara. Guzzling the water he’s given, he sets the cup down and cocks his head. 

“Can I have another?” 

“Thirsty, are you?” Jake teases but he refills the glass. Nick chugs it, distinctly aware of Jake’s eyes on him as he does. He’s unapologetic when Nick raises an eyebrow, grinning and leaning forward a bit. 

“It, uh, takes a lot of energy.”

“Does it now?”

“Mmmhm, all that flailing. Massive amounts of energy trying to keep other people energetic. They’re only as loud as you’re willing to be, yeah?” He’s rambling, he knows it, but the words just won’t stop. There’s a grin tugging at the corner of Jake’s very nice mouth. Not as nice as Louis’, maybe, but still nice. 

“That’s fascinating.” 

“It’s really not.” 

“I think it is. Hey, um, when do you get off?” 

Nick cocks his head, tapping a finger against the side of the glass. It makes a ringing sound that’s almost buried by all the noise around him. 

“Sorry?” 

“When do you finish DJing?” 

“Oh. I’m done at eleven? I think?”

“Sick,” Jake says and he’s even closer than before, close enough that he doesn’t have to raise his voice much to be heard. “I get off at twelve. If you don’t mind waiting, then maybe we could, dunno… head to mine?” 

“What?” 

Jake shrugs. “If you wanted to. You’re well fit and look like a good lay. It’d be fun, yeah?” 

“I don’t-- I have a boyfriend,” Nick says awkwardly. The words are clunky, like he hasn’t used them enough, and they’re heavy enough that he feels like they should make a sound when they fall out onto the countertop. Jake blinks once, recoiling back into the safety that is behind the bar. Away from Nick, who’s off limits. 

“Sorry mate. I didn’t know, like.” 

“S’alright. Should’ve said earlier.” 

“Is it a new thing?” Jake asks. “Cos, like, I don’t remember you saying anything before.” 

“Sort of. A few months.” Three, here at the end of January. Jake nods thoughtfully. 

“Well, that’s good. Sorry about all that, then.” 

“You said that already,” Nick says, giving a wry smile that Jake returns. 

“Meant it, I did. Pardon, I think there’s someone just down there wanting some help.” 

With another tight smile, he’s down the bar and talking to someone who looks a little peeved, obviously been waiting a while. Nick looks down at the quarter inch of water in his mug, and then at his watch. It’s time to get back to work. He downs the rest and then climbs back up into the booth. 

There’s a moment when the lights splits the room straight down the middle and somehow, inexplicably, lands on Louis. He’s standing still in the crowd, turned completely towards Nick. The light lasts long enough for Nick to notice the furious expression on his face, the tenseness of his shoulders and his hands balled into fists before sweeping up and away. 

 

When Nick finds Louis after finishing his set, Louis isn’t drunk but he looks like he wants to be. He’s got a sour expression on his face that doesn’t smooth out when he sees Nick, like it usually does. Nick cocks his head as he approaches. 

“You alright, love? You look like you’ve swallowed a lemon.” 

“Oh, fuck off Grimshaw,” he snarls, stepping out of reach. Nick raises his eyebrows. 

“Someone’s a bit rude.” Louis just scowls, flipping him off and turning to disappear into the crowd. “No, none of that,” Nick mutters and catches his elbow before he can leave. 

“Let me go.” 

Nick does, crossing his arms. 

“What’s the matter.” 

“Nothing,” says Louis as he scowls deeper. “Everything’s fucking _peachy_.”

Nick snorts and it makes Louis even more annoyed. “Don’t give me that shit. Fucking peachy, my arse.” They stare down each other for a few seconds until Louis’ gaze catches on something behind Nick’s shoulder and mouth twists into a grimace. Nick glances behind him; no one’s there but Jake. “Why’re you glaring daggers at Jake?” 

“Oh, it’s Jake, is it?” 

“Yes, he’s the bartender and I think you’ve met him befo-- oh my _god,_ are you _jealous?_ ” Louis purses his lips and doesn’t say anything, looking mulish. “You’ve not got anything to be jealous _about._ ” 

“Haven’t I?” he challenges. Nick throws up his hands in the air, nearly hitting a waitress with a full tray of drinks. 

“God, Louis. You’re so--” 

“So _what?_ ” 

Louis’ voice is loud and sharp, even above the noise of the crowd, and Nick’s suddenly aware that they’ve got a decent sized audience. He wraps his hand around Louis’ arm. 

“Outside,” he mutters, ducking his head and tugging Louis with him. They push past into the smoker’s area behind a bin and he lets go. Standing a foot apart, breathing heavily and gazes locked, they wait. 

Nick breaks first. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“Me? What the fuck is wrong with _you?_ ” Louis shoots back and Nick grits his teeth, rolling his eyes. 

“Sometimes, I swear to God, dating you is like dating a child.” 

“Oh, are we dating?” Louis asks haughtily, faux-surprised with his hands on his hips. 

“Of course we’re dating. Why wouldn’t we be dating?” 

“Last time I checked, you don’t hit on other guys when you’re _dating_.” 

“I didn’t--” 

“And if you _do,_ then you at least have the decency not to do it when I’m in the same room.” 

“It’s a big room,” Nick says absently and realises his mistake when Louis’ face clouds over. “And I didn’t hit on him, he hit on _me_ and I turned him down.” 

“What a fucking saint you are,” Louis replies as scornfully as possible. 

“Don’t you trust me?” Nick bites out. Anger’s curling in his chest, burning hot right above his heart, and coating the back of his throat. 

“And it’s ironic, yeah,” continues Louis, talking louder like he hadn’t heard Nick. “That you push me away when it’s _you_ who keeps finding better boys. Dunno why you’re so worried about _me_ running off and finding someone new when you’re the one fucking flirting with every guy you see, even when I’m right fucking there.” 

“You know that’s not true.” 

“I don’t, actually. You’ve not done anything to prove it otherwise. Not said anything.” 

“What do you want me to say, ‘I love you’?” Nick says, disguising his anger as carelessness. Louis flinches. 

“I want you to get your head out of your arse and admit you have feelings,” Louis shoots back and he looks like he’s an inch away from stamping his foot or punching something. “I want you to tell me you love me _to my face_ instead of mumbling it when you’re drunk.” 

Nick’s stomach drops and everything shudders to a terrifying stop. 

“You heard that?” 

“Yeah, I did, and I thought it meant you’d tell me sometime, but I guess I was wrong about that too.” 

“It’s too early,” he protests as harshly as he can and Louis waves a dismissive hand. 

“Says who? Who fucking cares besides me? God, I don’t understand why I’m supposed to be the mature one in this relationship when you’re fucking twenty four and I’ve just turned nineteen.” 

“Being smitten isn’t being mature,” Nick bites out, digging his fingernails hard into his palms. 

“You really think this is me being smitten?” Louis says, half-laughing and half-yelling. “Fuck, Nick, why are you so _rubbish?_ ” 

“I am not--” 

“Yes, you are! Everything about you is rubbish, from your godawful hair to your fucking posh clothes to your aversion to any feeling that takes up more space than boredom. It’s all awful and stupid and _rubbish.”_

“If it’s so _rubbish_ then why do you put up with it, then?” 

“Because I fucking love you. I thought we established that last time we were at each other’s throats! Fuck, do you even listen?” 

“Sorry,” Nick snaps, sneering. “Must be rubbish at that too. Can’t be helped.” 

“You absolute fucking prick,” Louis snarls and shoves past to the door. “God, I fucking hate you.” 

He yanks the door open and makes to go inside, except Nick snags the back of his shirt.

“Would you stop running away from every argument?” 

“Would you stop _pushing_ me away? Let me go, Grimshaw.” 

Nick does, because there’s nothing else he can do, and Louis disappears inside before he can think of anything else to say. He stands there for a moment, chest heaving and so angry he can barely think straight, staring at the door. Louis is always doing this, always running away, and Nick’s fucking sick of it. 

Shaking himself out of it, he stomps back inside in search of Louis. But it’s crowded and there’s people everywhere, and Louis is nowhere to be found. 

Nick slumps at the bar and downs a shot, then another, because he’s not sure what else to do. Louis is long gone by now. His phone’s going straight to voicemail like it’s been turned off or out of battery--honestly, either one’s possible when it comes to Louis--and Nick has no fucking idea where he is. 

Finally, tired, slightly drunk, and with anger still flickering in his chest, he collects his pay and goes home. 

 

He wakes up on the sofa, boots still on and legs hanging off the end, face mashed into pillow and extremely uncomfortable. The beginnings of a hangover start beating at his head as soon as he sits up, wincing at the twinge his back gives. There’s a blanket wrapped around him; it must be Gillian’s doing. 

Rubbing at his face, he stumbles to his bed, hopefully for a few more hours of sleep or feeling sorry for himself, and stops at the door. 

“You look like shit,” Louis says flatly. 

“Good morning to you too,” he mutters as he toes off his boots and socks, steps out of his jeans, and collapses onto the bed. Louis makes an annoyed noise. “What are you doing here?”

“I was sleeping.” 

Nick turns his head so he’s looking at Louis. “In my bed? After we fought?” 

“Didn’t want to be alone,” Louis answers, turning the page in his book. “I’m still angry at you.” 

“And I’m angry with you,” says Nick into the pillow. “Calling me rubbish was not nice.” 

Louis shuts the book, tossing it on the bed and turning to level a look at him. 

“ _That’s_ what you’re focusing on?” 

“It was really hurtful.” 

“Do you even _care_ about anything else I said? Anything? Or are you just upset because I insulted your _style_?” 

Nick shakes his head and buries his face in the mattress. He’s not quite sure why he’s so upset by that; maybe it’s just to deflect everything else Louis had yelled at him for. It’s all true, well most of it, and the fact that Louis knows him so well is a little terrifying. 

Sighing, he pushes up on his elbows and looks at his boyfriend. 

“You came back,” he says finally. Louis looks at him carefully. 

“I needed space for a bit,” answers Louis, face darkening a little. “That’s why I-- how did you put it?-- _ran away_.” 

“But you came back.” Louis nods jerkily. “I’m sorry. For it all, the yelling and the… flirting. I didn’t mean to… hurt you.”

“Nick,” he says, a little uneasily. “Do you-- do you love me? I just-- I need to know.” 

“I think you know the answer to that one, love,” Nick says after a second, panic rising up in his throat. Louis stares at him for a second, a myriad of emotions flickering over his face, and then nods again. He picks up his book and flips through to his page. 

Nick watches him for a second before laying back down, head turned to the side so he doesn’t have to look away. Louis is beautiful, really, with his hair soft and his glasses on, wrapped up in what looks like one of Nick’s jumpers. He closes his eyes against the sight and hopes it stops everything he’s thinking from pouring out. 

There’s something desperate and achy in his chest. It twinges whenever he thinks about Louis leaving, Louis finding someone _better._ The thought nearly makes him want to cry because Louis is-- Louis is the best person. There won’t be anyone better, not for Nick. 

A hand settles on Nick’s back, lightly sitting there, and god, it’s too much. He wants to grab on and never let go, never let Louis leave. Nick takes in a deep breath and opens his mouth to say _I love you._

A hand settles on Nick’s back, lightly sitting there, and god, it’s too much. Nick takes in a deep breath and opens his mouth to say _I love you._

“We should get married,” comes out instead. The hand on Nick’s back freezes. 

“What did you just say?” Louis says slowly and Nick screws up his eyes, hiding his face in the duvet. 

“I didn’t-- I didn’t mean-- god, I’m in love with you and I want to get married.” 

“What the fuck? Nicholas, what are you saying?” 

They’ve only been dating for a few months, and they’ve already got a fuckload of problems to deal with, but now that he’s said the words he can’t let them go. They ring around in his head until it’s all he can think about, until his breath’s nearly gone with how much he wants this, wants _Louis._

He sits up in one fluid motion, tucking his feet under the blanket and just looking at Louis. 

“You’re scaring me,” Louis says, a bit uncertainly. “I don’t understand.” 

“I just… I know it’s fast, _I know_ , but would you, Louis Tomlinson, marry me?” Nick asks again, still breathless. Louis looks at him blankly and his enthusiasm diminishes a bit, but not enough to make him take it all back. “I could get down on one knee if you wanted me to.”

“You’re seriously proposing?” 

“I’m seriously proposing,” Nick repeats and leans over to where his rings are stacked on a plate. He picks out one, the nicest one, and holds it out. “Marry me, yeah?” 

Louis stares at it for a long while, long enough for Nick to start to deflate. 

“You’re fucking mental,” he says finally, slowly, like he’s measuring his words out. They settle down in Nick’s chest and make him ache. “Like _properly mad._ ” 

“I know I’ve been a shit boyfriend but I promise I’ll do better as your husband.” 

Louis tears his eyes away from the ring and looks Nick in the face. It seems like the first time in hours. 

“Promise?” 

“I swear it. I swear on this ring.” 

Louis smiles, one that starts off small but grows bigger and more blinding until Nick can’t help but smile too. 

“Yes, Nicholas. I’ll marry you.” 

Nick’s barely able to push the ring on Louis’ finger when Louis launches at him, kissing any part of his face he can reach. Laughing, Nick winds an arm around his waist to keep him close, and presses their foreheads together. 

“Wait, I don’t have a ring for you,” Louis says and pushes him away. “That’s important, innit? Hold on--” He leans past Nick to where Nick’s rings are still stacked and hooks a finger in one. “Nicholas, will _you_ marry _me?_ ” he says solemnly, the ring flat on his palm. Nick looks at it, then at Louis, and snorts. 

“First off, you can’t propose because I’ve already done it, and second, you can’t propose to me with my own bloody ring.” 

“I don’t have another ring, Nick. It’s this or nothing. Plus, I know you’ll like it.” 

“Oh, fair enough. Put it on me, then.” Louis does and Nick shows it off with a flourish. “Look at that, we’re engaged.” 

Louis wrinkles his nose a bit, grinning from ear to ear. 

“How awful. We’re going to be married, even though I don’t like you a _smidge_.” 

“God. I’m going to have a husband,” Nick mutters, kissing Louis on the nose. Louis goes soft with it, reaching up to tug at Nick’s curling hair. 

“Yeah. A really fit one too.” 

“Mm, very fit. And cheeky.” 

Louis nips at Nick’s bottom lip before turning it into a full on kiss, filthy and messy and fucking hot. Nick pulls him closer even though there’s nowhere for him to go, and tries to get the spinning in his head to die down. 

It doesn’t. Not for a long time, but Nick’s okay with that.

 

“I’m sorry,” Aimee says, voice pitched dangerously low, “you’re _what?”_

“Engaged,” answers Nick and tries not to squirm under her gaze. 

“Engaged. To a boy I’ve met once, and you’ve only been dating for two months.” 

“Four, nearly,” he corrects but the clouds across Aimee’s face don’t clear. “And, um. Yeah.” 

“Are you insane? You’re gonna get married to him? What the actual fuck, Grim?” 

“I can’t explain it. I really can’t, but like. I’m happy, yeah?” 

“This is completely unlike you. What happened to Mr. I’m-Afraid-of-Commitment? What has that boy done to you to make you want to _marry him_ after fucking a month of dating?” 

“Four months,” Nick interjects quietly. 

“Which, by the way, was completely unlike you as well. Last time I checked, you don’t _do_ boyfriends, you _do_ one night stands and friends with benefits and _maybe_ five dates before you get hives.” Aimee’s voice gets progressively louder as she goes on and Nick shrinks back the tiniest bit in his chair. “What the fuck is going on?” 

“He’s electric, Aimee. Magnetic, and I can’t fucking stay away. We’re at each other’s throats all the time and it’s dead horrible, but he’s also my favourite person.” 

“As your best friend, I take full offence at that,” Aimee tells him, pointing a finger in his direction. “You’re lovesick, Grimmy.” 

“Yeah, I am.” 

“Dick drunk?” 

“He does have a very nice dick,” he says thoughtfully and ignores the eye roll Aimee gives. “And he’s _really_ good in bed. Flexible, like, and _gorgeous_ \--” 

“I’m going to stop you right there. That’s quite enough and I get the picture.” Nick grins at her and she tosses a pillow at him. “So. Marriage.” 

“Yeah,” he says and doesn’t try to hide the pleased look on his face. Aimee rolls her eyes. “Fuck, I’m getting married.” 

“When’s the date? Is it gonna be a big wedding? Where will you live?” 

“Slow down there, love. Um, as soon as possible, fuck no, and I’m not sure. We should probably talk about that, shouldn’t we?”

“How do you know you’ll be able to live together without killing each other?” she says doubtfully and Nick shrugs, tapping his fingers on the table. 

“Dunno. Probably will kill each other, honestly. We’re awful like that, but it’ll just have to be a learning experience. An adventure, innit.” 

“Oh, I suppose.” She glances at him, smiling just a bit, and shakes his head. “You’re a hopeless romantic, Grimmy. I hope you know that.” 

“Could be worse.” 

“No, it really couldn’t. Now, c’mon and let’s go see this fiancé of yours, yeah? Where is he?” 

Nick checks his watch and then puts his phone in his pocket. Aimee crooks an eyebrow at him.

“He should be getting out of class now, actually. We could meet him and then go for coffee? A coffee sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“Sure. Getting out of class, fuck. Can’t believe you’re marrying someone still in _school._ And their first year, to boot.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says airily as he hunts for his shoes. Aimee’s got hers on already, never took them off really, and she hands him the keys on the entry table. “Thanks.” 

“No problem. We can’t have you forgetting to lock the front door again.” 

“Oh my god, that was one time.” 

“That I know of,” she says, bumping him with her hip. He drops his arm around her shoulder and tugs her close while they’re walking. “God knows how many other times you’ve rushed out and come back to see the door standing wide open.” 

“It’s never been standing open,” he whines. “Just cracked, a bit.” Her laughter rings out and it makes him grin too. He presses a kiss to her hair, just a little one. 

“Does Louis know about your habit of leaving doors open?”

“No, because it’s not a habit!” 

“Ohhh, right,” she says, grinning up at him. He tries to frown but it doesn’t last long in the face of her amusement. “Maybe someone should tell him.” 

Nick’s very suddenly hit with the full realization of what a friendship between Aimee and Louis could mean for him. 

“Oh my god,” he says, “I’ve changed my mind. You and Lou are never allowed to see each other again. Ever.” 

“Yeah, good luck with that. Wild horses couldn’t keep me away from being friends with him now. Well, wild horses, and if he breaks your heart.” 

“He won’t,” Nick says immediately and pretends he fully believes it. Aimee doesn’t answer that, just pokes him in the side, and they go wandering off to where Louis is waiting. He looks a little nervous at the sight of them both.

“Erm, hi,” he says with a little wave. 

“Heya,” Aimee says cheerfully and waves back. “You must be Louis. I’m Aimee, the best friend who can’t believe anyone would willingly put up with Nick enough to marry him.” She says it jokingly, but there’s an edge as she eyes him. Louis shrugs. 

“Someone’s gotta do it, I guess.” 

Aimee grins, sticking her hand out for him to shake. “Good answer.” 

 

Louis goes home one weekend and Nick tags along, figuring he might as well meet his future mother-in-law. Christ. Louis doesn’t tell him no, but his face gets a little tighter when Nick mentions it. 

“You want to go home with me?” 

“Well… yeah. S’proper, innit? To meet the parents before you get married?” 

“I was hoping we’d just elope. Show up and be husbands.” 

“And deprive me of my big princess gown and massive wedding? I think not, Tomlinson,” he says, scandalised, and Louis’ face smooths out into a smile. “I want everyone’s eyes on me as I flounce down that aisle in the best bloody wedding dress you’ve ever seen.” 

Louis laughs outright then, tipping into Nick’s side in a comfortable sort of way. Nick slings an arm around his shoulder, pleased, and drops a kiss on the top of his head. 

“You’re not serious, are you?” 

“About the wedding? Honestly couldn’t care. Yeah, it’d be fun to have a big one but that’s not possible now, I don’t think.” 

They haven’t talked much about that aspect of it, the part about whether Nick’s going to come out to the world at large when they get married. He kind of hopes he doesn’t have to, not just yet, not at the beginning of his career. Not that it matters, but he’d just rather not let the whole world in his business. 

“I think you’d still want your mum there, yeah? It’s an important time and whatnot. She’ll cry and it’ll be wonderful.” 

“Mmm, I suppose you’re right,” Louis allows, pulling a face. 

“Aren’t I always?” Nick says magnanimously and Louis tilts his head up to press a kiss to Nick’s jaw, soft and loving. 

“Almost never, honestly,” he says, lips still at Nick’s cheek. It tickles, just a bit. “And I think you’d look lovely in a wedding gown.” 

“Thank you, darling. I’d smash it, I’m sure.” 

Louis kisses him again and then once more when Nick turns his head, on the lips. His boyfriend is really a wonderful kisser, Nick thinks as he strokes a finger down Louis’ face. 

Later, they’ll have to talk about all sorts of things: travel plans, and wedding logistics, and the like, but for now he lets himself be lost in the gentleness of Louis’ hands and the movement of his lips. 

 

Louis’ mother is waiting for them when they get off the train. There’s a little girl clutching a bit desperately to her hand, but Jay looks cheerful enough. She bundles Louis up in a hug as soon as he’s near enough, smacking a kiss on his cheek at the end. Laughing, Louis returns it before pulling away to peer at his sister. 

“Well hello there, Daisy. Where’s the rest of the lot?” 

“At home. Lottie’s minding them for a bit, but Daisy wanted to see you straight away.” 

“Couldn’t wait, hmm?” Louis asks as the girl drops her mum’s hand and barrels into his arms. Louis picks her up and whirls her around a bit, making them both giggle, and Nick can’t help but smile fondly. 

“Hello Nicholas!” Jay says, turning to him with a start like she’d forgotten he was there. She holds out her hand for him to shake. “Nice to meet you." 

"Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Tomlinson,” he replies nervously and resists the urge to poke at his hair. 

"Call me Jay, yeah?"

Jay. He can do that. He can do it, even though he's absolutely bricking it over meeting Louis' mum. Louis glances at him anxiously, fingers twitching like he wants to grab Nick's hand. He doesn't, though, which Nick sort of appreciates. His hands are clammy right now, sweaty with nerves, and Daisy’s got Louis’ hands occupied by hers. 

“C’mon then, I’ve got the car in the back. Do you have all your things? Daisy, let go of your brother so he can carry his rucksack, yeah?” 

Daisy pouts but she does as she’s told. Nick slings his holdall over his shoulder. 

“Your hair’s sticking up,” Daisy says suddenly, staring up at him. He arches an eyebrow at her to make her laugh. 

“Is it? Where?” 

She’s clearly not expecting that as an answer because she flounders for a second. 

“All over.” 

He bursts into laughter, and Louis beside him, as her eyebrows furrow down into a frown. 

“Love, that’s how it’s supposed to go,” Louis tells her and chucks her under the chin with a free hand. Her eyes widen.

“Mum always tells me I have to brush my hair when it sticks up like that. Doesn’t your mum say that too?”

“She did, at first, but now she’s sort of gotten used to it,” Nick answers and she thinks over that for a bit, sliding her thumb into her mouth. 

“It’s a bit silly,” she says finally, “but it makes you look nice, so I think it’s alright.” 

“Daisy, darling, don’t be rude,” Jay calls back and motions to her with a hand. “Here, come walk with me and let the boys have a second to themselves.” 

“She’s definitely your sister,” Nick comments dryly. Louis grins, knocking into Nick with a shoulder. 

“We’re not so good at keeping our mouths shut, I suppose. Get it from her.” He nods up to where his mum’s rummaging around in her handbag for the keys. Finally, she finds them and waves them at Louis triumphantly. 

“Knew they were in here somewhere. Right, bags in the back and Nick can sit in the front with me--” 

“And deprive Miss Daisy the pleasure of teasing me about my quiff? Never,” he says as he clambers into the backseat and folds his legs up. It’s a tight fit, but it’s alright. Daisy grins at him. “How old are you again?” 

“Six at the end of this month!” 

“Nearly six? That’s so big!” 

“How old are you?” 

“I’m twenty four.” 

“Am I going to be as big as you when I’m twenty four?” she asks, eyeing his long legs. Nick chuckles. 

“Only if you eat your veg.” 

“Well, then I’m never going to eat them.”

“Oh no, that’s not--” 

“Mum, Nick says I don’t have to eat my veg anymore.” 

Louis twists in his seat to smile at him, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Are you corrupting my sister back there? Giving her unhealthy ideas?” 

“That’s absolutely not what I said,” Nick argues, scandalized. “And I’d _never._ ” 

“He did!” 

“Stop that, you’re making me give a bad first impression.” 

Daisy just looks at him, unimpressed. 

“I think you had that one covered on your own, love,” Louis shoots back and Nick seriously considers kicking the back of his chair.

“Oh, don’t listen to them,” Jay says warmly, catching his eye in the mirror and smiling. “You’ve been perfectly lovely in the fifteen minutes I’ve known you.” 

“I can already tell you’re going to be my favourite Tomlinson.” 

She laughs as Louis leans around to smack him in the leg. 

“You’re _awful,_ ” he says. Nick shrugs. 

“Do you think I’m awful?” he asks Daisy who sticks her thumb in her mouth and tilts her head to the side. 

“No,” she says eventually. 

“See that? Daisy doesn’t think so, so it must not be true.” 

“Whatever happened to loyalty, Daze?” Louis teases, twisting around again. It’s Daisy’s turn to shrug. “I leave for one term and my own sister turns on me. Outrageous.” 

They pull up to a modest little house on a quiet street. The lights are on all on and someone shrieks when Jay pulls open the door. 

“Louis is home!” 

Three girls of various heights come skidding into the hall, freezing when they spot Nick in the entry way.

“Who are you?” the oldest ventures. 

“That’s Nick. He’s with me, yeah?” Louis says as he pushes past Nick to pull her into a hug. “How are you, Lots? Fizz? Phoebe?” 

They each give him a hug in term, Phoebe slipping one hand into his and the other’s thumb into her mouth. Nick would swear it was Daisy if Daisy wasn’t pulling off her trainers beside him. All three of them continue to stare at Nick. 

“Who are you?” Lottie asks again, hands on her hips. 

“Lou already told you, dear. That’s Nick. Now, c’mon, you’ve had a long day,” Jay says, waving them into the kitchen. She puts the kettle on without asking if they want any tea, leaning her hip against the counter. 

Louis gives him a tiny nervous glance and something like dread starts to build in Nick’s stomach. 

"So," she starts, smiling at them both. "How long have you two known each other? Louis hasn't told me anything about you." 

"Uh," Nick says a little weakly. "A few months? Is it six now?" Louis nods. 

"Well, it's really nice to meet a uni friend of Louis'--"

"Oh," Louis says quietly, going pale and giving Nick another look. "No, mum. He's not-- he's not my friend. He's, um, my fiancé." 

Jay’s expression freezes, her knuckles going white around her mug. 

“Sorry, what did you just say?” 

Louis takes a breath. His fingers are visibly shaking, but he lifts his chin and looks directly at his mum. 

“He’s my fiancé. We’re going to get married.” 

“You’re _engaged?_ ”

"You didn't tell her?" Nick asks lowly, turning towards him. Louis' hands are scrabbling for his so he threads them together without thinking about it. 

“I-- I didn’t, no,” Louis says, shaking his head. He’s rather pale and Nick would be worried at any other time. 

“What the fuck, Louis?” 

“I meant to, I promise,” he snaps, but Jay interrupts him.

“You’re _gay_?” she says and Nick's stomach falls to the floor. Louis looks like he's going to be sick. 

“Louis--” Nick starts and then stops himself. It’s not the right time, not now.

“I didn’t _know,_ oh my _god,_ ” continues Jay, sounding like she’s on the edge of tears. 

"Oh no, mum, don't cry," Louis says frantically, reaching towards her and letting go of Nick. She's got her head in her hands and she's shaking. "Please, mum." 

"I didn't know, and now you're engaged? Since when have you been gay?" 

"I'm not. I still like girls, I just like boys too. And I like Nick the most." He sends Nick a terrified look, but Nick can’t move a muscle. He blinks at the two and tries to remember how to breathe. "Is that... Is that okay?" Louis asks tentatively and it makes Jay hiccup. 

"Of course it's fucking okay, but I wish you would've told me before you had a fiance. Oh my god, Louis. You’re nineteen and gay and engaged.” 

She starts to cry again and Louis murmurs half-hearted reassurances as Nick watches. He has no idea what to do, no fucking idea, and there's still something unpleasant twisting in his stomach.

“I’m going to…” he trails off and ducks out of the kitchen, not looking at Louis even though he can feel his eyes on his back. 

The four girls stare at him when he walks into the lounge. 

“Oh. Hi.” 

“Is the tea done?” Fizzy asks. 

“Er, no.” 

“Is Mum alright?” asks Lottie sharply. She looks enough like Louis that it makes him do a double take. 

“She’s… Louis is just talking to her.” 

Lottie gives him a dubious glance but doesn’t push it. Daisy waves at him and then pats the seat next to her. 

“Do you want to watch with us?”

“What are you watching?” he says as he rounds the sofa and sits between Daisy and Fizzy. He squints at the telly. “Is this _SuperNanny_?” 

“Yeah. Mum likes it because it reminds her that we’re not too horrible of children,” Fizzy answers without looking away from the screen. 

“Oh. That’s smart.” 

All four sister nod, fixated on the child throwing a fit on telly. Nick tries to watch but he has a hard time, too keenly aware of Louis in the kitchen behind him. Daisy leans into his side after a few minutes, slumping into him in a way that’s far too reminiscent of her brother. Nick stares down at her head for a second, surprised. 

They watch the end of this episode and into the next one until Louis comes into the room. He’s got a guilty, strained look on his face but he stops short when he notices Nick on the couch in between all the girls. 

“Did you make a friend?” he says, smiling.

“Obviously. We’re besties now, aren’t we?” Nick says and Daisy nods her head rather enthusiastically. 

“That’s really nice, but Mum needs your help with dinner and I’ve got to show Nick where he’s staying.” 

Daisy leans away so Nick’s got the space to stand up and he follows Louis up the stairs, pausing in the entryway to snag their bags. He can hear Jay talking to the girls and the sick feeling comes back. 

"What the fuck was that?" Nick mutters, softly but vehemently when they get to Louis’ room. It’s small and cluttered, but nice enough, with a decent-sized bed and football posters on the wall. Louis pushes the door closed and looks at him with tired eyes. "You didn't tell your fucking _mother_ anything?" 

"I didn't.... The gay thing is new. Bisexual. Whatever. It's new." 

"How new?" Nick asks cautiously and Louis fidgets with the hem of his shirt. He doesn’t look up. 

"Really, really new." 

"Oh my god," Nick says, realization dawning on him and feeling sicker. "The night we met at the club. I knew you were figuring things out, but you said you’d had sex before. You said that, Louis. I just figured-- You didn't-- that was your first time, wasn't it? " 

Louis shrugs one shoulder, determinately not looking at him anymore. 

"Maybe." 

"Oh my god," Nick says again, sitting down on the bed. 

"I was going to tell her, I promise, but then everything happened and we were engaged and I just thought… it’d be easier in person."

He looks so small standing alone and Nick's heart hurts. He tugs Louis forward and into a hug, Louis burying his head in the crook of Nick's neck. 

"Please don't be angry," Louis says quietly and Nick runs a hand down his back. 

"I'm not, I'm not. Just surprised, that's all." 

"What if she hates me?" 

"She won't. She's your mum, she's not allowed to hate you." 

“She was really, really fucking angry.” 

“Well, yeah. You went and got engaged without telling her. Mums don’t like those sorts of things.” 

Louis doesn’t respond to that, just presses his head harder into Nick’s shoulder. Nick tightens his grip and rests his head on top of his boyfriend’s, determinately refusing to let himself think about anything. 

They stay like that until Louis loosens his grip, biting a little at the curve of Nick's neck. 

"That's a really shit way of saying thank you," Nick complains after a particularly sharp nip. His head's still going in circles and he doesn't know what to think at all, but Louis is back to his semi-normal self and that makes him glad. 

"Thank you. I love you." It comes out in a rush, like he's nervous Nick won't say it back.

"Love you too."

 

Someone knocks on the door and Louis yells for them to come in. It’s Lottie and she stops just inside, looking at them sitting on the bed. 

“Yes, Lots?” 

“Mum said to come and get you for dinner,” she says. Louis tenses just the tiniest bit, but he stands up, holding out a hand to haul Nick up too. Lottie nods. 

“He’s not just your friend, is he?” she whispers, sneaking a glance back at Nick who pretends not to have heard. Louis looks at him too and then squeezes her shoulders. 

“No, he’s not.” 

“He’s nice. I like him.” 

Nick bites the side of his cheek to keep from smiling but he doesn’t think he manages very well. Looking up, he catches the tail end of a grin on Louis’ face before he looks away.

“I do too.” 

Jay’s made spagbol and it smells delicious. The other girls are all at the table when they arrive in the kitchen, filling up glasses and putting food on plates. Nick hesitates for a second. 

“Where should I sit?” he asks Louis quietly, who evaluates the table. 

“Here,” Louis answers, pulling out a chair at the head and sitting next to it. “The place of honour.” 

“Your mum’s just going to glare at me all night.” 

“She’s not mad at _you_. It’ll be alright, I promise.” 

Nick hesitantly sits and gets a tap on the shoulder. 

“Daisy said your hair’s supposed to be like that. Is she right?” 

“Phoebe,” Louis scolds and she sticks her tongue out at him. Nick stifles a laugh.

“I was just _wondering,”_ she whines, peering at Nick with a hopeful look. “Could you make mine look like that?” 

“Hmm, maybe?” Nick says, squinting back at her. “It might be too long, though.” 

“We can cut it!” 

“I think Mum would object to that one, Pheebs. Pass the salad, please, love.” 

“I’d object to what?” Jay asks, cocking an eyebrow at all of them. Her eyes are red, just a tiny bit. “What are you three scheming?” 

“Phoebe wants to cut her hair so it sticks up like Nick’s.” 

Jay’s eyes widen for a moment and then she continues to spoon out spaghetti for Fizzy at her left. 

“Well, she can if she _really_ wants to. She’ll have to wait a week first, though.”

“I’ll be gone home by then,” Nick tells Phoebe apologetically. “Maybe next time?” 

Phoebe shrugs, spinning her fork in her pasta and then trying to fit it all in her mouth in one bite. She very nearly makes it and Nick gives her an appreciative nod. 

“So. Nick. Tell us about yourself,” Jay says, pursing her lips a tiny bit. Nick nearly chokes on the bit of spinach he’s eating. 

“What do you want to know?” 

“Anything. All I know about you is your name and that you’re Louis’ fiancé.” Lottie’s head snaps up to look at Louis, alarmed, but she doesn’t say anything. 

“Well. I’m Nick Grimshaw. I’m twenty-four and I’m a radio host and sometimes a DJ.” 

“He’s pretty good,” Louis interrupts, giving Nick a quick smile. “That’s how I met him.” 

“You cornered me outside and told me my setlist was crap,” Nick says flatly and Louis makes a face at him. 

“Because it _was._ ” 

“Was not!” 

“It really was, love, but then it got better,” soothes Louis. Nick rolls his eyes. 

“Anyway. I’m a DJ sometimes. Um, what else? My parents live in Oldham.” 

“A northern boy, then,” says Jay approvingly and Nick feels like he’s won some points. “Any siblings?” 

“Two.” 

The questions continue through dinner, Jay relaxing more and more as Nick slowly unspools his life, and Louis relaxing with her. 

Afterwards, Daisy seizes his hand and pulls him to the lounge to watch telly with them again while Louis helps his mum do the washing up. 

“I can help--” Nick objects, but Daisy talks over him. 

“No, he can’t. He’s going to super-- to super--” 

“Supervise,” supplies Lottie and Daisy nods. 

“Yeah, supervise us while we watch things and he said he’d plait my hair.” 

“You can plait?” Louis says, looking an awful lot like his mother. Nick nods. 

“My friend Lou taught me, yeah. I do my niece’s hair sometimes. But I can honestly help with the dishes.” 

“It’s fine, we’ll just bung them in the dishwasher,” Jay says, flapping her hands at him. “Go with Daze, it’s alright.” 

So Nick follows them and sits on the sofa with Daisy waiting patiently at his feet. Her hair’s slippery and he has to undo the plait a few times, but it turns out decently enough. She doesn’t complain when he pulls a bit, too. 

Phoebe takes her spot as soon as he’s done, begging for it to be her turn now and he obliges. He’s a bit faster this time now that his fingers remember what he’s meant to be doing. 

“There. You look beautiful,” he says and hands over his phone so the two of them can take selfies and admire themselves. “I’m just going to get something to drink.” 

The door to the kitchen’s nearly closed but Nick can hear Jay and Louis talking. Slowing down to listen, he stops just before going in. 

"He's not like... manipulating you, is he?" he hears Jay ask hesitantly and it takes a moment for Louis to understand. 

"Like, abuse or something? No, Mum, no. The exact opposite, I promise.” There’s a beat of silence and then Louis speaks again, voice pitched low and insistent. “Nick's the nicest person in the world. He could never-- he could never do that." 

Nick flushes at the warmth in Louis' tone, glad Louis can't see him and tease. 

"If you're sure..." 

"I am," Louis tells her, voice steady and certain. "I really am."

"You're so young, though, and you’re getting _married_.” She sounds teary again and a flash of guilt goes through Nick, not for the first time.. 

“Mum, you know me. I don’t do things half-arsed, do I? When I love someone, it’s all in for me.” 

“But are you certain? I don’t want you to end up like... me.” 

“Mum,” Louis says fiercely and Nick catches a glimpse of them hugging through the door. “I’d be pretty lucky to end up like you, I think,” he says, a bit muffled. 

There's a moment of quiet before Jay speaks again, soft and wistful. 

"You love him, don't you?" 

"Yeah. I really do."

 

They get married on a Friday afternoon. Well, civil partnership-ed, but _married_ is more fun to say and easier to explain. Aimee’s Nick’s maid of honour and Jay is Louis’. Both mums cry and Pete mumbles something about them being too young. It’s simple, just them at the courthouse with their families, but it’s absolutely perfect. 

“Darling, you look ravishing,” whispers Nick, eyeing Louis in his suit.

“As do you, even if it’s not a wedding dress.” 

“Yes, well,” Nick answers and tugs on the ends of his jacket. “This was my second choice.” 

“I love it. And you,” Louis says, reaching up to wind his arms around Nick’s neck. Nick settles his own around Louis’ waist and smiles down at his husband. 

“Christ. We’re married.” 

“That we are, Nicholas,” says Louis with a grin and Nick’s suddenly so full of love he can barely stand it. He laughs, tipping his head back. Louis takes the opportunity to kiss his neck and then his cheek.

“Alright, you two,” Nick’s mum says, bustling up with a camera in her hands. “It’s time for pictures and then cake.”

“Cake?” Louis says curiously, tilting his head to beam at her. Eileen smiles back, obviously charmed. 

“Of course there’s cake. It’s a wedding, isn’t it?” 

Louis lets Nick go grab his hand. 

“C’mon, love. Let’s get this over with so I can shove cake in your face.” 

“Dead romantic,” Nick says, as dryly as possible and Louis clicks his tongue. 

“You know you can’t wait to shove it in mine as well, so you can shut up.” 

Nick allows himself to be prodded and pulled and poised, both Jay and Eileen and the photographer they hired for an hour snapping picture after picture. Soon, his cheeks hurt from smiling but Louis keeps pressing kisses to the side of his mouth in between poses and there’s a ring on both of their fingers so he bears through it all. 

And it’s perfect.

 

“I was thinking,” Louis says, later that night. They’re at a bed and breakfast somewhere up in Scotland. Nick’s parents had surprised them with the honeymoon and Nick had only just kept from crying. 

“You thinking? Sounds dangerous.” 

“Oh, shut up,” he mumbles as he crawls up the bed, taking the book from Nick’s hands and tossing it on the ground. “I was thinking that maybe a ring is not enough.” 

“Oh, do you?” Nick says, arching an eyebrow and settling his hands on Louis’ waist. Louis grins down at him. “Should I give you my kidney instead? Perhaps a lung?” 

“You’re absolutely ridiculous.” 

“But you married me.” 

“That I did,” Louis mumbles, bending down to kiss him. It takes a moment, but he remembers what he was going to say and sits up once again. “What if we got matching tattoos?” 

“Thought you didn’t like them?” 

“Yeah, well.” He drags a thumb down the one on Nick’s him, something he got once when he was drunk and it seemed like a good idea. “Might’ve changed my mind.” 

“Hmm, I like that idea, actually.” 

“I do have good ones, occasionally.” 

“Very, very occasionally,” Nick tells him, biting down on a smile. Louis clicks his tongue but he’s smiling too, a happy flush on his cheeks and down his neck. 

“Shouldn’t you be nicer to me? I’m your husband, after all,” he complains, and Nick carefully rolls them over so he’s on top. 

“Mm, and that means I can tease you _forever._ ” 

“Oh, wonderful,” Louis says flatly as Nick kisses his shoulder. His breath catches when Nick bites, starting on a love bite. “Nicholas--” 

No one really calls him Nicholas to his face, always Nick or Grimmy or Grim or Grimshaw. Except Louis, because Louis always seems to be the exception. but Nick's anything but complaining; he rather loves the way Louis says Nicholas, likes the sound of it on Louis' tongue.

He likes the taste of it even more, urgent when Nick's licking into Louis' mouth, pitched low with desire and want.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, lifting his head to look at him. “I love you.” 

Louis blinks at him for a moment before a soft smile spreads across his face, lighting him up like a sunrise lights the sky. 

“I love you too, Nicholas.”

 

 


	3. where the city meets the sky

**[where the city meets the sky // louis // 2010]**

Funnily enough, Louis hears about the auditions on Nick’s show. It’s one of the announcements-- _X-Factor auditions start next month in London!_ \-- and once he hears it, he can’t forget about it. 

He auditioned once, right after school when he was still on a high from playing Danny Zuko and thinking he could do anything. That stopped really quickly though, when he didn’t even get past the preliminaries. 

But maybe, just maybe, if he practiced he might be able to go further. It’s this tiny seed of hope that’s taken root in his chest, this tiny thing he carries around with him always and steals his breath away sometimes. 

Nick doesn’t know about any of it. Louis can’t quite bring himself to tell him, too protective of his secret hope and too worried Nick will laugh at him. Nick’s important, Nick’s the best thing in Louis’ life and he can’t bear the thought of him being disappointed in Louis. 

So he doesn’t say anything, just looks up audition dates and clears the history on his phone as soon as he’s done. 

 

He’s asleep when Nick comes in after work but wakes up when Nick slips into the bed. 

“Hey,” he mumbles, sleepily pressing closer to him. Nick sighs, tracing down Louis’ spine. 

“Hiya, darling.” 

“How was work?” 

“Long,” Nick says around a yawn. “Tiring. Much rather be here with you.” 

“You’re sweet. Now let me sleep.” 

“You started it, not me,” Nick grumbles and Louis presses his cold toes to his leg in response, smirking when Nick yelps. “Why are you always freezing? Haven’t you heard of socks?” 

“They’re not comfortable,” he whines. “And you’re always here to warm me up, so why should I bother?” 

“Maybe I don’t like being your personal space heater, have you thought of that?” 

“Mm, too bad. You promised that when you married me.” 

“I don’t remember that in the vows.” 

“It’s implied,” Louis says, hiding a smile in Nick’s shoulder. “ _In sickness and in health,_ n’all that.” 

“Sickness and health and cold feet.” 

“Exactly. Now you’re getting it.” 

“Didn’t you want me to let you sleep?” Nick complains. His heartbeat’s right next to Louis’ ear. It’s a nice sound, steady and warm and strong. “Lou?” 

“Shh, I’m listening to your heartbeat.” 

“What?” 

Louis wriggles a hand in between them and presses it to Nick’s chest, where his heart is. 

“Your heartbeat. S’nice.” 

“Weirdo,” says Nick fondly, tugging on a strand of hair. 

“Oh, strange. I can hear your joints creak when you do that.” 

“Are you calling me old, Tomlinson?” 

“No?” Louis answers and then shrugs, grinning. “Maybe a tiny bit. But I think everyone’s bones make sound, honestly.”

“Well, I guess that’s alright, then.” He yawns again, a great big one, and Louis hears his jaw pop. He kisses it, just by the hinge, and then Nick’s nose for good measure. “Don’t you have an early morning tomorrow?” 

“Don’t remind me.” 

“Why are you still awake?” 

“Cause you woke me up,” Louis tells him as crossly as he can manage. Nick chuckles and squeezes his hips. 

“Guess I did.” 

“I was having such a lovely dream, too. It involved David Beckham, I think.” 

Making a face, Nick squeezes his hip again. It’s bordering very dangerously on ticklish territory but Louis doesn’t tell him that, lest it be used against him. 

“Oh, David Beckham.” 

“He’s proper fit,” Louis says, burying his face in Nick’s neck again and trying not to laugh. “All muscley and football-y.” 

“Muscley, eh?” Quick as a wink, Nick rolls them so Louis is on his back, both of his wrists in Nick’s hand and Nick smiling down at him. Nick digs his fingers into Louis’ tummy and Louis gasps with laughter. “I’m proper muscley too!” 

Louis bucks, trying to get him off, but he’s laughing too hard and Nick’s too strong. His hands are pinned above his head and Nick’s _relentless,_ finding all his ticklish spots until Louis is nearly crying. 

“Alright, alright,” he huffs when he can get a breath. “You’ve made your point! You’re very strong and very fit and I love you very much. Happy?” 

“Mmm,” Nick says, crooking an eyebrow. “Nearly.” 

He lets go of Louis’ wrists only to shimmy down his body, grabbing his hips. 

“What are you-- oh. _Oh.”_

“Astute, you are,” comments Nick dryly and Louis considers kneeing him in the head. He does rather suspect that’d ultimately be a bigger loss for himself than for Nick so he graciously allows the comment to slide. 

Nick’s self-satisfied smile when he’s done, however, is not to be let go. 

“Proud of yourself, are you?” Louis says. It’s ruined a little by his breathlessness. Nick grins smugly. 

“A bit, yeah.” 

“I’d give that a five out of ten, honestly. Maybe a five point five, if you’re lucky.”

“That, my dear husband, was at _least_ a six on the blowjob scale and I’d like to see you do any better.” 

Louis has to be up in approximately six hours for his shift at the coffee shop, but, well. He’s never been one to back down from a challenge. 

 

In the end, he tells Nick his mum needs him for a few days. 

“She’s asked me to come up, if that’s alright with you. Be with the girls while they finalize the divorce and shit. Do you mind?” 

“Just for a few days, yeah?” Louis nods and hides his shaking fingers in his pockets. “Yeah, of course. It’s your mum, innit? She needs you.” 

“Yeah,” answers Louis around the big ball of guilt that’s suddenly taken residence in his throat. “She does.” 

“I’d come with you, but--” Nick starts, apologetic, and Louis cuts him off. 

“I know you can’t, love. You don’t have to be sorry about it.” He doesn’t think he could bear it if Nick was, what with the lying and all. Nick smiles, warm and lovely, and digs his toes into Louis’ thigh. 

“Won’t even miss you a bit. It’s been far too long since I’ve had the bed to meself, be like a tiny holiday.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” Louis manages to say and it sounds mostly normal. Nick’s smile turns into a full on grin and his toes are ridiculously sharp. Louis wraps a hand around his ankle and pulls Nick’s feet into his lap. 

“Are you going to give me an apology foot massage?” Nick asks, wriggling his feet. Louis wrinkles his nose and pushes them to the floor. 

“Not those nasty things. Maybe if you showered more often-- _maybe--_ but certainly not now.” 

Nick laughs and bends himself nearly in half trying to press a kiss to Louis’ cheek. 

“I will be the better person and graciously offer to make you a cup of tea. Would you like one, love?” 

“Always, _dearest,_ ” answers Louis, batting his eyelashes. Nick rolls his eyes. 

“Why do I even ask,” he grumbles loud enough to be overheard and tosses a smile over his shoulder. Louis really does love him, even if he does hate himself a bit for lying. 

He tells himself it’s for a good reason; Nick’d just be ridiculously excited and supportive and Louis hates the idea of coming home afterwards and telling him he’s failed, yet again. He’s not even going to get past the auditions, realistically, so why even bother telling him. 

Sometimes, Louis can still hear his fucking geography teacher telling him he’s not going to amount to anything, his smug face all pulled up in a sneer and certainty dripping from every word. 

Louis is horribly determined to prove him wrong and horribly afraid to prove him right. 

 

Jay sends him off to the audition with a kiss on the cheek and a packed lunch, almost hilariously close to the way Nick had done before Louis had gotten on the train. His Mum’s packed lunch is miles better. Nick’s sandwich had fancy organic shit that tasted far too healthy for Louis’ liking and stuck to the back of this throat. That might’ve been the guilt doing that, though.

Manchester Central is _massive_ and so filled with people that they’re spilling out the door. It’s fucking five in the morning and there’s already lines wrapping around the building. He finds the end and takes his spot, nervousness and excitement fighting in his belly. 

Nearly everyone’s got friends or family around them and he feels a bit lost all by himself. His mum had offered to come along but that would’ve meant a whole day off of work. It seemed like so much for something that’s not going to work out. 

Everything’s a blur from then on, time warping around him. Sometimes he feels like he’s been here for days, sometimes it feels like seconds, but finally he ends up in the building, signing a paper with his name and being given a sticker. 

“We’ll call your name when it’s your turn to sing,” the harried-looking worker tells him, waving at a line of people. “But for now, go over there.” 

He makes it through the first round somehow and hope starts to win out in his chest. And then he does it again, and again, and he’s being told he’s to sing for the judges. 

“What, really?” 

The lady gives him a look that clearly says she doesn’t have time for this shit. 

“Yes, really. Sit until we call your name.” 

That’s been the motto of the day. He does, keenly aware of the cameramen everywhere. One of them comes up to him almost as soon as he’s settled and shoves a microphone in his face. 

“Who are you, then? What’s your story?” 

“I’m, er, Louis,” he says cautiously and the man makes an impatient noise. “I don’t really have anything else to say to you.” 

The man clicks his tongue in a huffy sort of way and goes off to talk to someone presumably more interesting. Louis sits back in his chair and tries not to fidget too much. 

“Louis Tomlinson?” someone yells after a while and he sits upright in his chair. They’re saying his name wrong, with a silent _s,_ and it should bother him more than it does. He lets it go, focusing on keeping his legs from shaking. 

The stage is big and the audience is even bigger, and he can’t quite catch his breath as he walks to the mark dead centre. He can’t stop smiling, either. 

They put him through and it takes everything not to cry right there, in front of thousands and the cameras. It’s overwhelming, though. All three judges said yes, oh my _god_. 

“I’ve made it,” he mutters as he stumbles out, too dazed to be of any use to people filming. “Oh my god, I’ve made it.” 

 

His mum is ecstatic, kissing his cheeks and cheering when he tells her. 

“If only you’d’ve let me go with you,” she says as she smooths down a piece of his hair. “I’d have been there to celebrate with you.” 

“You’re celebrating now, Mum.” 

“Nick’s going to be so _proud_. I bet he wished he could’ve come too, didn’t he?” 

“He, uh. He didn’t know, actually,” he says with a tiny wince. His mum’s smile lessens a bit. “I didn’t want to get his hopes up. I didn’t think I was going to make it.” 

“Well, you did and he’s going to be incredibly proud of you. Who wouldn’t be?”

He could name some people but he doesn’t, too caught up in the way his mother’s grinning and glowing and his own success. 

“Fuck, Mum. I’m going to Bootcamp. I’m gonna be on _X-Factor_.” 

“I always knew you could do whatever you wanted. Love, you’re gonna smash it.”

 

The elation starts fading on the train back to London. It’s just-- he’s one of two hundred, and only eight boys are going through to the live shows. There’s more than eight boys who are better singers than he is, Louis’ certain of it. 

Once again, he’s got absolutely no chance. 

 

Nick’s waiting at the station with a sign in pink marker. Louis laughs when he sees it, so typically _Nicholas_ , and nearly knocks him over trying to give him a hug. 

“You’re crumpling my masterpiece,” Nick complains, but he’s got his hand fisted in the back of Louis’ shirt and no intention of letting go. 

“You’re crumpling my lungs,” Louis says back. “And my shirt.” 

“It was wrinkled already. All of them are wrinkled because you don’t ever hang them up.” 

Louis pulls back to kiss him, partially to shut him up and partially because he fucking missed him. Nick kisses him back eagerly, smiling into it and pressing his hand flat against Louis’ back. 

“So, how’s your mum?” Nick asks when they’re done, ignoring the dirty looks they’re getting and slipping his hand into Louis’. Louis squeezes back. 

“She’s alright. As alright as she can be, I reckon.” 

“And your sisters?” 

Louis shrugs. “The same? Dunno.” 

He waits until they’re on the bus before he nudges Nick with his foot, waiting until he’s leaned in close before he starts talking.

“She, uh, wants to know if I can come back at the end of the month. For longer this time.” 

“What? Why?” 

“She’s going to be gone for a bit. She needs someone to watch the girls. Dad-- Mark’s not… not able to, I guess.” 

Nick’s quiet for a minute and Louis watches him think, staring at the patch he’d missed while shaving, right by his ear. He presses his lips to it for a second, unable to help himself. 

“Well, if she needs you. Not my place to tell you what to do, is it?” 

“A week’s a long time.” 

“I quite enjoyed the night to myself in my bed,” Nick replies, tapping him on the nose. “I slept well without your cold feet making things miserable.” 

“Git,” Louis tells him fondly.

“Text your mum and tell her I’ll lend you out for a week if I need to.” 

“Christ, that makes me sound like I’m a book or summat.” 

“The Book of Louis Tomlinson. Sounds all posh, doesn’t it?” 

“It sounds ridiculous,” Louis informs him, tucking his head on Nick’s shoulder. He’s got a nice shoulder, Nick does, all wide and just the right for leaning on. He can feel them shake gently with Nick’s laughter and it’s a warm, fond sound. “Love you,” he says, almost too quietly for Nick to hear. He does, though, cause he turns to press a tiny kiss to Louis’ head. 

“Love you too, darling.” 

 

Work’s not as understanding at him asking for a week off. They fire him, in fact, which is not a surprise. He was long due that, really. 

He doesn’t go home straightaway like he’d like to, too annoyed and ashamed to face Nick. Snagging a cheap football at the shops, he finds a park to kick it in instead, running all around the grass until he’s out of breath. The burning in his lungs feels nice, feels tangible.

He’s not ready to go home, though, so he finds a goal and kicks the ball in once, twice, as many times as he can. His back’s all sweaty by the time he’s done and his legs are going to be sore tomorrow, but his head’s a lot clearer now. His guilt’s not gone away but at least it doesn’t feel like he’s fucking drowning anymore. 

“Hey Lou,” Nick sings out from the kitchen, poking his head out to grin at him. He’s in a pair of pants and a faded shirt, hair soft and his glasses on his nose. Louis loves him dearly. “How was work?” 

“Got sacked,” he mumbles as he drops the ball by the other three in the hall, nudging it into place with his toe. When he glances up, Nick’s got a sad sort of look on his face. 

“Oh, love. Why?” 

Louis snorts. “Why not? Because I’m a fucking awful employee.” 

“You’re not.” 

“Do you know I dropped a full tray of drinks on a family when I worked at a restaurant?” 

“You worked at a restaurant?” 

“A full tray,” he repeats, ignoring Nick. “I spilled it on everyone and then bolted. Never went back.” 

Nick laughs a bit and comes out to try and hug him but Louis takes a step back. 

“I’m all sweaty and gross. Let me shower first, yeah? Then I’ll hug you.” 

“Right. Good idea. I’ve got dinner nearly done. Shall I pull out the wine as well?” 

“Do we even have any?” Louis asks as he pulls his damp shirt over his head and balls it up in his fist. Nick gives his chest an appreciative look so Louis throws the shirt at his face. Nick catches it, then drops it in disgust.

“That’s fucking awful. It’s _wet_ through, nearly.” 

“It’s just sweat.” 

“It’s gross, darling. You go shower and I’ll find something alcoholic to drink with our meal.” 

“Wine coolers don’t count.” 

“Noted,” Nick says, throwing the shirt back. Louis lets it fall to the ground and leaves it there while he makes his way to the shower. When he gets back, Nick’s singing loudly and off key in the kitchen to some pop station on the radio, dancing a little in his pants. 

“Nice shimmy you’ve got there,” he teases and Nick jumps, flushing. 

“Didn’t realise you were there.” 

“Would you’ve stopped?” 

“Well… no,” admits Nick with a smile and leans over for a kiss. Louis gives it to him, ignoring the guilt in the pit of his stomach. He’s gotten pretty good at that recently. 

Nick, thankfully, doesn’t say anything about why Louis was all sweaty or why he was sacked. He just serves up a plate of food and they eat it quietly in the kitchen, tangling their feet together and sneaking kisses between bites. 

 

“I’ve got a secret,” Nick says over breakfast and Louis pauses buttering his toast. 

“You what?” 

“I’ve got a secret,” he repeats in a singsong. “Two, actually.” 

“Oh?” Louis says, putting down the knife. Nick’s smiling at him like he’s the best thing on the planet which is _ridiculous_ because he’s just shoved half a slice of toast in his mouth and he’s all crumby. Louis raises an eyebrow and Nick beams harder. “Are you going to tell me or not?” 

“No, I think you’ll have to guess.” 

“You’re pregnant,” Louis says, deadpan. “And it’s not mine.” 

Nick snorts and pats at his stomach a little. 

“Yes, it’s a food baby and it belongs to Mr Takeaway. Sorry that you found out like this, but we’re quite happy together,” says Nick dryly and Louis coos.

“I wish you both the best, then. And the little one.” He reaches over to poke at Nick’s tummy. It makes Nick jump and he wraps his arms around his middle to protect himself. 

“That’s not my secret. Guess again.” 

Louis thumbs over the tattoo on Nick’s inner arm, the triangle that matches the one on his ankle, and hums to himself. 

“Um, you’ve got a promotion?” 

“You guessed it!” Nick nearly yells and Louis’ gaze shoots up to his face. 

“Wait, really?” 

“Well, sort of. I’m hosting a mini-series and it’s airing soon. We filmed the first episode when you were gone, and there’s more coming this week. It’s set to air in August,” Nick says all in a rush, cheeks a tiny bit pink. Louis stares at him, honestly at a loss for words. “I was going to tell you earlier, like, but it wasn’t a for-sure thing, and it’s not big--” 

“What kind of mini-series is it?” Louis interrupts. His voice sounds tinny to his own ears, like it’s far away, but Nick doesn’t seem to notice.

“A fashion one. They’re calling it _New Look Style the Nation,_ and it’s, um, it’s really fun.” 

“That’s sick,” Louis says, sliding his hand down to slot his fingers with Nick’s. His stomach twists unpleasantly. “I’m really proud of you.” 

“You’re not, like, upset because I didn’t tell you sooner?” Nick asks, eyes worried and face soft and hair everywhere. Louis wants to get his hands in it but it’s not the right time. 

“No,” he says around the lump in his throat. The guilt in his throat is cloying, choking him. How could he be mad when he’s doing the exact same thing to Nick, except a thousand times worse. “I’m not upset.” 

Nick leans over to kiss him on the cheek, making a face at Louis’ stubble, or maybe the crumbs probably stuck there. 

“Oh good. I was worried you’d be mad and I’d have to find some way to make it up. I can save all those ideas for later, then.” 

Louis frowns at him for a moment, taking another bite of his almost cold toast. 

“Do you intend on doing that often?” 

“It’s my sole purpose in life,” Nick tells him solemnly. “I’m going to get it cross stitched on a pillow and display it proudly on our sofa.” 

“What exactly are you going to get cross stitched? _Make Louis Mad_ or summat?” 

“Yeah, I see what you’re saying. It doesn’t quite convey the full extent of what I wanted to say. I’ll think on it for a bit and get back to you later,” Nick muses, stealing a bit of Louis’ crust. Louis just stares at him as he happily munches. 

“You’re so fucking weird.” 

Nick shrugs. “Guilty as charged. It’s how I get all the boys.”

“All of them, huh,” asks Louis flatly and Nick waggles his eyebrows. It’s ruined slightly by the butter streaked across his cheek. 

“Well, only the cute ones.” 

“You’ve got butter on your face.” 

“And you’ve got crumbs on your mouth,” replies Nick, reaching over to brush them off. Louis bites at his finger, just because he can, and laughs as much as he can manage when he gets a dirty look. “That is _not_ how you get all the boys, Louis. Be more charming.” 

“I am the epitome of charm. There has never been a more charming individual than me.” 

Nick taps Louis’ nose once, shaking his head. 

“If you say so, darling.”

His own secret’s on the tip of tongue, wanting to spill out, but Louis swallows it down. Nick’s so happy and Louis doesn’t want to be the one to make him not, doesn’t want to burst his bubble now or when he ultimately gets cut from the competition. Louis _knows_ he’s not good enough, but Nick doesn’t have to know that too. 

“Don’t be condescending,” he mutters instead. Nick grins as he gets up with his plate in hand towards the sink. 

“Me? I would _never_.” 

“You’re a pain in the arse and I didn’t miss you one bit,” Louis tells him. Leaning up against the counter, Nick crosses his arms and there’s still a huge fucking grin on his face. If 

“Likewise.”

 

Bootcamp is hell. There’s literally no other way to put it, two hundred people crammed into a venue and out for blood. And through it all, Louis can’t quite forget that only eight of the boys are going on to the next part. 

“I really shouldn’t’ve come,” he mutters to himself as they’re all gathered into an auditorium and herded into lines. 

“Sorry, were you talking to me?” the boy on the other side of him asks and Louis glances over. 

“No, I was-- well, thinking I shouldn’t come here, honestly.” 

“Oh, fair enough. I mean, not that you shouldn’t be here, but they think you’re gonna make it, yeah?” He nods at the judges’ table, currently empty. “I’m Aiden, by the way. Aiden Grimshaw.” 

“Grimshaw?” Louis repeats, eyebrows flying up. “Are you… are you related to Nick Grimshaw?” 

Aiden frowns for a minute. “No? Don’t think so.” 

“Oh.” Louis shakes his head and laughs for a second. “That’s alright. I’m, uh, Louis Tomlinson.” 

Aiden gives him a strange look but Louis can’t stop chuckling to himself. Of course the first person he’d meet here has the same name of his husband. Of-fucking-course. 

“What do you reckon they’re gonna make us do?” 

“Dunno. Sing, maybe? Dance? Hopefully not juggle things; I’m rubbish at that,” Louis guesses and Aiden rolls his eyes. Louis likes him already. 

They’re interrupted by the judges walking in; Simon and Louis looking pretty pleased with themselves as they smile at the applause. 

Louis chews his thumb through the speech. It’s terrifying and paralyzing and he’s absolutely never going to make it. He tags along with his group anyway, learns his parts, and tries sing around his nerves. 

He makes it through the first round of cuts, miraculously, and there’s a camera in his face as soon as he gets off stage. 

“How’d you do, then?” The crew asks briskly and Louis just shrugs a bit. 

“I got through, didn’t I?” 

“So what do you think your chances are of going to the Judges’ House?” 

Louis looks at him, the balding man with a camera and a microphone, and then around the room where there are dozens and dozens of people milling about. They’ve all got better voices than him. He’s not stupid, he knows he’s not got the biggest voice or the biggest chance. 

“Only eight people are going through, and there are eight better singers than me out there so I don’t rate my chances,” he says finally and the man’s lips curl down into a sneer. 

“You don’t rate your chances? Sounds like you don’t want this.” 

He moves onto another contestant before Louis can answer. He’s thankful for it, honestly, because he’s not sure he _could_ answer well, explain how he so desperately wants this but also knows that he’ll be devastated if he lets himself hope. 

The dancing’s alright. Louis did a bit in theatre, so he’s not as lost as he could be. He makes friends with a boy Aiden knows. 

“I don’t like this,” is the first thing Zain tells Louis, when they’re just shown a few dance moves. “I don’t… I don’t dance at all.” 

“It’s a bit silly, yeah. Probably worth it, though.” 

“Yeah,” Zain says uncertainly. Still, Louis doesn’t expect him to do a runner and just not show up. He also doesn’t expect _Simon fucking Cowell_ of all people to be the one to go look for him. It work, though, and soon Zain’s dancing as best he can next to Louis. 

After they go, Louis stretches out on the ground, muscles aching in a good way, to watch the other groups perform. Hope is tentatively growing in his chest, a tiny bit of confidence peeking out. 

It all comes crashing down when they’re given their next assignment. Twenty-four hours is not a long time, and not long enough to learn and practice a song. He’s fucked, once again. He still practices, though, still picks his song and sings it over and over until the words are burned into his brain and his voice starts to sound rough around the edges. 

“Oh,” someone says, startling Louis into silence. It’s a boy, younger than Louis probably, and he’s got a sheepish look on his face. “I didn’t realise anyone was here.” 

Louis shrugs and then waves his hand around the formerly-empty stairwell. 

“I was just practicing. S’got good acoustics and it’s far away from everyone else.” 

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I was going to practice here too.” The boy flicks his fringe and peers at Louis, who stares back. “I’m Liam, by the way.” 

“Louis. You’re friends with Niall, yeah?” 

Liam blinks in surprise. “You know Niall?” 

“Everyone knows him,” Louis says with a roll of his eyes. “He’s jumping around like a ball of sunshine. How can I not know him?” 

“I’m his roommate,” says Liam. “What song are you singing?” 

“Um, ‘Make You Feel My Love’?” He’d picked it because it was one of Nick’s favourites. He’d goes on and on about the time Adele sang it for him once, late at night when they were young and bordering on tipsy, and when Louis saw it on the list he’d known it was the one. Maybe it’ll get broadcasted and Nick’ll see it. It’s a slim chance, but it’d be sort of cool if it did. 

Louis shakes himself out of his thoughts and looks back at Liam. “What are you singing, then?”

“‘Stop Crying Your Heart Out’.” 

“Oh, is it a good one?” 

“Yeah, think so. I just hope it’s good enough.” 

They lapse into a tense silence. Louis goes over the song in his head over and over, trying to remember every note perfectly, when Liam speaks again. 

“It’s fucking terrifying, isn’t it?” 

“I’m nearly bricking it, mate. Legitimately think I’m going to pass out on stage.” 

“Nah, you won’t,” Liam tells him with a tiny smile on his face. It soon fades. “I went a few years ago, you know.” 

“Did you?” 

“Yeah. Made it to the Judges’ house too. They said I was too young.” 

“That’s fucking amazing. You’re gonna smash it this time, too. There’s no way you won’t.” 

Liam, to Louis’ surprise, goes bright pink and ducks his head. 

“I don’t… I think you’re going to as well.” 

“You’ve not even heard me sing,” protests Louis. “How would you know?” 

“Just do,” Liam says and it’s too earnest for his own good. Louis rolls his eyes again and nudges his shoulder into Liam’s, who flinches slightly. He frowns, but doesn’t say anything. “I’ve got to go find another place to rehearse, but, erm. Good luck?”

“Good luck, Liam,” says Louis and Liam waves goodbye, shutting the door to the hallway on his way out. Louis squares his shoulders, takes in a deep breath, and starts to sing again. 

 

Singing for the judges is terrifying but waiting for the results is fucking _agony._ They line them up and Louis wants it so badly he could cry. He doesn’t though, mindful of the cameras trained on them from every angle. If he’s not going on, he’s not giving them anything to poke fun at either. 

Simon, Louis, and Nicole rattle off names and he can’t stop his heart from jumping every time they open their mouths, or from sinking when it’s not his name they’ve called. Aiden gets through, at least, but Liam doesn’t which makes Louis frown. If _Liam_ can’t get through, then Louis definitely has no chance. 

“The final contestant that’s made it through is,” Simon says, dragging it out like he’s not about to decide all of their futures, “Tom Richards.” 

And even though Louis _knew_ it wasn’t going to be him, he knew it from the beginning, it still feels like the floor’s gone and fallen away from underneath him. He can’t breathe over the rejection for a moment. 

They’re herded off stage and the cameras descend like vultures. They pick out Liam and Niall and Harry to interview, which is strange, but whatever. What’s stranger is that none of them were picked to go through, honestly, but that’s for Simon and Louis Walsh to agonize over and not him. He wraps his arm around one of the guys that’s crying next to him, and starts to walk away. 

He’s just thankful he never told Nick about any of this, as guilty as it made him feel, because he couldn’t handle the disappointment on Nick’s face if he knew. 

“Louis Tomlinson!” an assistant yells down the hall and Louis stops dead in his tracks. “Louis Tomlinson, they want to see you.” 

“What for?” Louis yells back, mostly out of shock than real curiosity. The assistant gives him a dirty look and doesn’t answer that. He follows her anyway. 

There’s a crowd there, all from the boys category, and Louis goes up to stand next to Harry. 

“What’s this, then?” he whispers and Harry looks at him with huge eyes. 

“Dunno. They just said to come back.” 

Niall pops up and rests his chin on Louis’ shoulder. Louis jumps a tiny bit at the familiarity but doesn’t shake it off, enjoys it even. 

“We were sitting on our suitcases and waiting for our mums,” Niall tells him, frowning. “Then they said to come back in.” 

“Oi, listen up,” one of the producers shouts and the crowd gets quiet. There’s a camera being prepared over her shoulder. Louis eyes it a little warily. “We need five of you on stage because the judges have an announcement.” 

Niall lets out a tiny breath and starts chewing nervously on a fingernail. Louis copies him, if only to have something to do with his hands so they stop shaking. 

“We need Niall Horan, Louis Tomlinson, Zain Malik, Liam Payne, and Harry Styles.” 

Hope explodes in his chest like a balloon that’s been popped and he’s pretty sure he’s beaming but he can’t help it. There’s something good coming, he can _feel_ it, and they’ve called his fucking name. God, maybe he’s not as worthless as he thought he was.

He nearly takes the stairs two at a time as he follows Zain out onto the stage where the judges are smiling at them. There’s a group of girls on the other side too, only four of them there, and the boys lined up. Louis slings his arms around Zain and Liam’s shoulders, grinning despite of himself. 

Nicole goes into a speech about them and their talents and Louis’ grin starts to grow. 

“We think it would be a good idea to have two separate groups,” she says.

“Oh my god,” Liam whispers, Harry echoing it, and then suddenly they’re all crowding around for a hug. 

“A group, we’re gonna be in a group together,” NIall says wonderingly. His face is red and he’s got a wide grin on his face and he looks like he’s going to cry again. 

“Hey, hey. Hold on, line back up again,” someone shouts and they do, only this time Louis finds himself in the middle. 

“We’ve decided to put you through to the Judges’ house,” Simon tells them solemnly. It takes a second, but then Nicole’s words kick in and Louis starts jumping up and down. He’s crying, burying his face in his hands, and Liam puts a comforting hand on his back. 

They all crowd in for a group hug again, all of them a little weepy, but it doesn’t matter. They’re going to the Judges’ house, they’re going together, and they’re gonna fucking smash it.

“Oh my god, we’ve done it,” he says, grinning. “We’ve done it.” 

 

Nick’s at work when Louis finishes with it all, so he sneaks into the studio to see him. He’d been banned from it after too many people nearly walking into a snogging session-- Nick’s still not keen on telling everyone he’s married, not just yet-- but the security guard’s one of the older ones who likes him. 

They’re in the middle of a link and Louis leans up against the glass to make faces at his husband as he waits for them to finish. Nick’s face goes ridiculously happy when he notices and Louis’d make fun of him if it wasn’t so bloody adorable. 

“Welcome back,” Nick sings as soon as the music’s playing. Louis laughs and goes into the studio and into Nick’s arms. “How was everyone? Your seventy sisters still doing alright?” 

“Four sisters, you idiot,” says Louis fondly. “And they’re fine. They send their love.” 

“Oooh, did you hear that, Nicole? Louis’ sisters love me.” 

“They’re the only ones in the family, honestly.” 

“Oi,” Nick says mildly, catching Louis’ hands where he tried to sneak in a cheeky tweak of his nipples. Louis fights a bit and then leans his cheek against Nick’s very comfortable shoulder. 

“Missed you,” he says quietly. Nick tightens his hands, just a bit.

“Well, it was your own fault for leaving. Didn’t think I liked that. Don’t do it again.” 

“Okay,” Louis agrees, a bit sleepily. He’s not had a good night’s rest in _ages_ and he’s rubbish now at sleeping alone. 

Nick’s goes back on air and sounds like he’s holding back a laugh but Louis doesn’t mind. He waits out the link in the chair next to Nick’s, fighting against the tiredness pulling at his bones and listening to Nick’s voice rumble in his chest. 

“Love your voice,” he mumbles. Nick rolls his eyes but reaches for his hand, twisting their fingers together. 

“What a line,” he replies and Louis smiles down at his lap, stroking his thumb over Nick’s. 

“That’s what I say, not you.” 

“We can share it,” Nick says and nudges him in the leg. “It’s not like you can _own_ a phrase or summat.” 

“Doesn’t a basketball player own ‘happy birthday’? And that’s why we’re not allowed to sing it in restaurants?” 

“Now _that_ I think you’re making up,” Nick tells him right as the song fades out. Louis is sixty five percent sure he’s not but he doesn’t argue, mainly because he doesn’t want to bicker on the radio. 

There’s a cup on the console, safely away from most of the expensive equipment, and Louis swipes it for a drink, grimacing around the taste of coffee. Nick gives him a exasperated look. 

“You do that every time and you never like it,” he hisses and Louis shrugs. 

“Maybe next time I will,” he hisses back, taking another defiant sip. It’s bloody awful but manages not to make a face, staring Nick down. Nick rolls his eyes again, lightly pinching Louis’ thigh. Louis pinches his nipple in response and it’s only the producer’s glare that stops it from becoming an all out fight. 

Louis is so glad to be home. 

 

The first episode of _New Look Style the Nation_ airs the next day and Louis drags Nick down on the sofa to watch it. 

“No, I don’t want to,” Nick whines even as Louis is flipping to the right channel. 

“Ooh, look at you in that suit. Are you trying out for it too?” 

“I’ve got to be fashionable if I’m hosting a fashion show, Lou. And I think Henry did a nice job picking it out, actually.” 

“Oh, so it’s _Henry_ I have to blame.” 

Nick sticks out his tongue and settles himself more comfortably onto the sofa, tucking his face into Louis’ neck. He licks a tiny bit at the skin there and Louis rolls his eyes. 

“Disgusting.” 

“Learned it from the best,” Nick replies, and it’s muffled. Shaking his head, Louis drops his arm over Nick’s shoulders and draws little shapes on his back. On the television, Nick’s talking animatedly to people, shoving a microphone in their faces and making the most outrageous faces. 

“You’re ridiculous on the telly.” 

“You’ve got to be larger than life, like. Make an _impact._ ”

“Do you now?” Louis says and Nick takes it as an opportunity to explain. He sits up, fixing his hair haphazardly, and squinting at Louis. 

“Yeah, if you want to be remembered. S’all an act, you see. A _persona_. You’ve got to have one to be in the public eye.” 

“A persona. Like I’m playing myself in a musical?” 

“Isn’t that the plot of _High School Musical 3?_ ” Nick asks, biting down on a smile. Louis cocks his head, frowning. 

“I wouldn’t know that, Nicholas.” 

“I’m pretty sure you would know that, actually.” Louis just looks at him blankly and Nick sighs. “You’re telling me you never went with your billions of little sisters to go see _High School Musical 3_ when it was playing at the cinema? God knows I was dragged there at on least two separate occasions.” 

“Who made you go?” 

“Olivia wanted to see it, and then Aimee did as well. I probably could’ve quoted it by the end of that summer.” 

“You’re so fucking weird.” 

“Maybe, but that one dance on the top of the roof was a cinematic _masterpiece,”_ Nick says as he gets up, wiggling his hips a little and humming a song Louis assumes is from the movie. 

“That’s so gay,” he yells at Nick’s back. “And it’s ‘Can I Have This Dance’.” 

Nick pops his head back into the doorway and points a finger at him, grinning. 

“I knew you’d seen it.” 

“Shut up. You’re distracting me from this incredibly hot guy on this programme.” 

“It’s on commercial,” Nick shouts back and Louis shakes his head, trying to keep from smiling.

Nick’s soon back in a pair of worn joggers and a soft t-shirt, folding himself back onto the sofa. He makes a face at the screen where he’s chatting. 

“Hate my voice.”

“You talk for a living,” Louis deadpans, not looking away. 

“Still don’t like it, though. Sets my teeth on edge.” 

“Does anyone like the sound of their voice? I doubt even popstars don't get a bit tired of it, honestly.” 

“You’ve got a good point there,” Nick says, nosing at Louis’ cheek a bit. “I like the sound of your voice. I wouldn’t ever get tired of hearing it, either.” 

“You twat,” Louis grumbles and shoves his face away, trying to hide the redness creeping up his neck. “You don’t mean it.” 

“I do.” 

“Shut up and let me watch you be all fashionable and shit,” Louis says, squirming a tiny bit under the weight of Nick’s affection. It feels nice but heavy and he’s not quite sure what he did to deserve his husband. 

His phone buzzes with a call and Louis pulls it out to check. It’s Harry, probably looking to confirm when he gets in. He hangs up and Nick raises an eyebrow.

“Who was that?” 

“No one. Unknown number.” 

It rings again and Harry’s bloody name pops up on the screen again. Nick frowns a bit, tilting his head to see. 

“Who’s Harry?” 

“A mate,” says Louis, hitting the reject button and turning his phone all the way off. “From back home. Don’t know why he’s ringing me.” 

“Well, shouldn’t you answer? Just in case?” 

Louis turns to look at him and runs a finger over the frown on his face, thumbing where his forehead’s creased. 

“No, I think he’ll be fine. There are other people he can call.” 

“If you say so,” Nick answers, exaggerating his frown. Louis laughs and pokes him with a finger. 

“It’ll stick like that, if you’re not careful.” 

“That’s just a myth. I’ve made plenty of faces and they’ve never stuck. Good thing, too, otherwise I wouldn’t have found such a fit boy.” 

“You do love your faces,” says Louis, not letting the fondness creep too much into his voice. He smacks a kiss on Nick’s cheek for good measure. “Speaking of, yours is all stubbly.” 

“It’s _manly_.”

“It’s scratchy, is what it is.” 

Nick heaves a sigh and rubs his cheek over Louis’ to make him squirm. “I think you’re jealous cos I can grow facial hair and you can’t.” 

“Maybe I just don’t fancy beard burn,” Louis tells him and crosses his eyes. “Did you think of that?” 

“Darling, I can assure you that I’ve never thought a thing in my life.” 

“Mmm, and it shows.” 

“Ouch. That was harsh.” 

“Hush, love,” he says to Nick as the show comes back on. “I know you don’t like it, but I actually am very interested in--” 

“Fashion?” 

“I was going to say ‘you making a fool of yourself’ but that works too.” 

“How incredibly supportive of you. I was always told to pick someone supportive,” complains Nick and Louis rolls his eyes. 

“I’m the most supportive person on the _planet_.” 

Nick laughs, but doesn’t say anything to it, just focuses back on the screen. Louis tucks his feet under Nick’s thighs and watches him instead.

 

They go out that weekend. They’ve not been out in ages and Nick’s got a gig somewhere. It’s one of Louis’ favourite things, seeing his husband getting lost in the music and the lights and the people. Partying, coincidentally, is another one of his favourite things so it works out well. 

His phone rings somewhere around midnight and he stumbles to the side of the room to dig it out of his trousers. It’s from Harry. 

_**Sooo I was thinking we should all meet for a while. Get to know each other before we go to the judges house.** _

**__**_Sounds siiick !!_ Louis types after a moment. It’s a good idea, really. They need to know each other, trust each other, before they can really become a group. _When ?_

_**My stepdad has a bungalow that he’d let us use for a few days before we leave?** _

**__** _What about the other lads ?_

_**They’re in!** _

Louis pauses, picking at his lip as he glances up at the DJ table. Nick’s laughing, shouting something into the crowd, and he looks so _happy._ Louis smiles fondly at him and tries not to think about having to lie again. 

_Yeah sure . Just tell me when and where !!_

He shoves his phone back in his pocket and pushes his way through the crowd to the table, grinning up at Nick.

“Having fun?” he yells and Nick nods enthusiastically. Louis watches him for a second and then hauls himself up to plaster himself to Nick’s back. 

“You’re not any help,” Nick complains. Louis bites a little at where his skin peeks out from his shirt, a little salty with sweat.

“Consider it a challenge.” 

Nick steps back on Louis’ foot. It doesn’t hurt but Louis bites him harder anyway, feeling rather than hearing Nick’s laughter. 

“What are you playing next?” 

“Dunno. What do you want to hear?” 

“Rihanna? Do you have any of hers? Ooh, what about ‘We Found Love’?” 

“Aren’t you a romantic?” Nick teases, but the music fades into the opening chords and crowd sends up a cheer. The lights go and Nick throws his hand up in the air, yelling. Louis tucks his face into Nick’s shoulder to hid his grin, then pokes him in the side. 

“C’mon, let’s go dance. Just for a song.” 

“Louis--” 

“Queue up another song and let’s go, just down there. We can come right back.” 

It takes a moment but then Nick nods. Louis hops down off the table and pulls his husband down too, squeezing close as soon as Nick’s steady. 

“You’re such a bad influence,” he yells over the music and Louis turn and presses a tiny kiss to Nick’s jaw. 

“Yep. But you love me.” 

“That I do.” 

Nick presses his hands flat to Louis’ stomach, dipping under his shirt to stroke the skin there and Louis shivers a tiny bit. 

“You’re an awful dancer,” Louis says. 

“Like you’re any better,” Nick replies so Louis kicks it up a notch, pulling out all the tricks he knows. Grinding his hips a little, he tips his head back to smirk at Nick. “Oh, fine. I get it. You’re good.” 

“Thanks, love. It’s so nice of you to say so.” 

“Prick,” he says easily, squeezing Louis’ hips a bit.

They barely make it up onto the table in time to make the next song, but they do and it’s alright. Everything’s alright-- Louis is sweaty and they’re just a bit tipsy, but Nick’s laughing under the lights and Louis wants to stay in this moment forever. 

 

His phone rings way too early for Louis to deal with, especially hungover. He sticks his head under the pillow and prays it stops. It doesn’t, regretfully, and he squints at the screen. 

“‘Lo.” 

“Louis? Hey, I just needed to talk to you about--” 

He sits up, rubbing a hand over his face and scowling at his knees. Nick’s still snoring beside him, hair gone every which way on the pillow and it’s incredibly adorable. Or would be, if he was fully awake to appreciate it.

“Liam? What are you doing?” 

“I was just-- oh. Were you asleep?” 

“It’s a Saturday. It’s--” he checks the time quickly and scowls deeper. “It’s nine o’clock in the morning.” 

“I’m so sorry. I was up and I just thought you’d be awake too. I’ll just call back in a while, yeah?” 

“No, it’s fine,” Louis says as he edges out of the bed. Nick turns over into the empty space, but doesn’t wake up. “I’m up now, so might as well talk.” Yawning, he pads into the hallway and shuts the door closed. 

“Well, first off, are you going to the bungalow? Did Harry tell you about that?” 

“Yeah. I’ll be there.” 

“I was thinking it’d be great bonding time or something. We need to get to know each other and see if we even work as a band.” 

“I know, Liam. That’s why we’re going to a bungalow together.” 

“Right.” Liam sounds sheepish and it makes Louis smile despite himself. “Sorry, I’m just a bit nervous.” 

“S’alright,” he says around another yawn. “When are we going to that, anyway?” 

“Next week, isn’t it?” 

“Wait, what? Next week? What the fuck?” 

“When else would we do it?” Liam says. Louis can nearly hear him frowning down the line. “The Judges’ House is in two weeks.” 

“ _Two_ weeks? I thought it was in August!” 

“That is August. It’s nearly the end of the month, Louis. Did you not know that?” 

“I did not realise that, no,” he tells him, picking at a bit of paint that’s coming off the doorway. Nick won’t like it if he catches him, the ridiculously house-proud bastard, but Louis does it anyway. “Well, see you in a week, then.”

“Bye, Louis,” Liam says. Louis hangs up as he goes back into the bedroom. Nick’s sitting up, putting his glasses on and scrunching up his nose like he can’t quite see yet. It’s fucking cute. 

“Why’re you awake?” Nick says, slurring his words a bit. Louis tosses his phone on the bed and crawls up after it. 

“Just woke up.” 

“Who wasson the phone?” 

“Nobody important. A salesman trying to sell a hoover.” 

Nick frowns at him, nose still wrinkled, and all lovely in his pre-morning sleepiness. 

“Do they still do that? I thought they just sent emails.” 

“Guess not,” Louis says, shrugging. Nick looks at him some more and nods once, reaching up to fix at his hair. He doesn’t do much good, it being a nest up there, but at least he tries. Taking pity on him, Louis tugs on his arm. “Here, love. Let me help.” 

Nick gives up and slides down so Louis can get at his hair. There’s a massive tangle in it that Louis picks at with careful fingers, mindful to not hurting him. Nick hums low in his throat as he gets petted and prodded. His body’s curled all around Louis’ and his hands are fiddling with Louis’ shirt and Louis plays with his hair long after he’s done untangling.

“Thank you,” Nick says quietly into Louis’ thigh. Louis jumps a bit, he’d thought Nick had fallen back asleep. 

“Not a problem, love.” 

“Reckon that means I need a haircut?” 

“Mmm, probably,” Louis says as he slides his fingers into it and pulls gently, like he knows Nick likes. Nick’s long, long eyelashes flutter and Louis bends down to press a kiss to them. He can’t help it. 

 

In hindsight, Louis should probably have told Nick where he was going. He should’ve done it at the beginning, but now he’s off to Harry’s bungalow and then the Judges’ House and it’s too late to tell Nick now. 

But he’s got a train ticket and everything, Harry’s picking him up at the train station, and they’re off for a weekend of bonding. He can’t bow out now. People are relying on him. 

He packs up during the afternoon, digging an old holdall out from the closet and shoving clothes in it, both his and Nick’s. Mostly his, but a jumper that’s his favourite and a soft shirt finds its way in the bag as well. Turning around, he nearly jumps out of his skin when he notices Nick standing silently in the doorway. 

“Nicholas. You gave me a fucking heart attack. I thought you were at work.” 

“I came back for a late lunch cos I don’t have many meetings,” he answers, looking at Louis and then at the bag in Louis’ hands. “Where are you going?” 

“I--” Louis swallows hard and then shrugs. “A lads holiday. It was last minute.”

Nick looks at him again for a long time, something Louis can’t read playing out on his face, before he sighs. 

“I’ll… see you when you come back, then,” he says quietly, stepping aside so Louis can get by. Louis sighs too, trying not to scratch off his skin or choke on his guilt, and doesn’t look at him as he leaves. 

Nick waits until Louis’ got his shoes on and reaching for the door handle before speaking again. 

“Louis, wait. Are you… are you cheating on me?” 

Louis honestly can’t think for a second, can’t think how to process what he just heard. He whirls around, dropping his bag, and stares at Nick. 

“What? How could you think that?” 

“Just-- are you?” Nick’s watching his feet but Louis can see the hurt on his face and Louis is in front of him almost without thinking. 

“Hey. I’m not. I’m _not_. I could-- I could never, alright? Not ever,” he says fiercely, wrapping his hand around Nick’s wrist. “Not in a million years, Nicholas Grimshaw.” 

Nick nods jerkily, pressing his lips together and still looking at the ground. 

“Enjoy your holiday,” he mumbles before pulling his hand from Louis’ grasp and disappearing out the front door. Louis catches it before it slams. 

“Nick,” Louis calls after him but he doesn’t reply, already halfway down the stairs. Checking his watch, Louis winces. He’s going to miss his train if he doesn’t leave now. “Nick, I love you.” 

He waits two heartbeats for something, _anything_ , but nothing comes. Nodding to himself, he picks up his bag and locks the door carefully behind him. 

 

 

He can hear people laughing as soon as he walks up to the door of the bungalow and he pauses before he knocks. Shaking his head, he shoves open the door and walks in.

Everyone freezes when he walks in, four sets of eyes swivelling to where he’s at, and he gives a small wave. 

“Hey guys.”

“Louis!” Harry cheers, coming towards him for a hug. “Finally, everyone’s here!” 

“Yeah, sorry. Train was late,” he says and it’s half-muffled by Harry’s shoulder. Niall’s right behind him, and Zayn too. “Okay, okay. Let me get my stuff down, yeah? And then we can hug.” 

Liam smiles shyly at him from where he’s hovering in the kitchen. Louis ruffles his hair and slings an arm around his neck as he walks by. 

“Alright there, Leemo?” 

“Yeah, fine,” says Liam, shifting away slightly. “I’m fine.”

Louis drops his arm but doesn’t move, smiling at him. “Did you have a long trip?” 

“Just came from Birmingham. It wasn’t that bad,” he mumbles. It’s half drowned out by Harry dumping a bunch of bags on the counter, the contents spilling out a bit. Louis eyes widen. 

“Holy fuck, Harold, that’s a lot of food.” 

Harry frowns at him.

“We’re five boys,” he explains. “And it’s _Harry,_ not Harold.” 

“Whatever you say, Harold. Did you bring alcohol?” 

“Yeah, Robin got some. Niall’s already had a beer or two.” 

“And you could never tell!” Niall says, a little too loudly and his cheeks just a tad bit pink. “I love Robin, honestly. Best step-dad in the world for letting us use this all. That’s a pretty sick thing, innit? My da wouldn’t even trust me with a motorcycle, let alone an entire cabin for a week.” 

“Yeah, well, that’s because you don’t have your license yet, Nialler,” Zayn says from the other side of Liam, grinning with his tongue tucked behind his teeth. “I wouldn’t trust you either.” 

“Hey,” protests Niall, pouting and making Harry coo. Zayn rolls his eyes and goes for a beer himself, bringing back one for Louis and Liam as well. 

“Oh, um, no thank you,” Liam says politely and hands the beer back. Zayn cocks an eyebrow at him quizzically. 

“What? Do you not like beer?” 

“No, I, uh. I don’t drink?” Liam goes red under their stares and squirms a bit, nudging the bottle away farther. “I’ve got this thing, like, with my kidney. It doesn’t work.” 

“How are you alive, then?” Niall asks, frowning. Harry elbows him in the side. “M’just asking!” 

“You can survive with only one kidney.” 

“Yeah, but you can’t drink with just one. Right, Liam?” Zayn says, turning to Liam. Liam nods, still red, and Louis shrugs, swallowing a sip of his own beer. 

“That’s alright, then. I can drink for the two of us, yeah? Hand it over.” 

“You’ve still got half in that bottle,” Liam says but he does as he’s asked. Louis pinches his nipple and pretends not to notice Liam trying not to flinch. 

“Leemo, I’m trying to _help_ you. Can’t do that if you don’t let me,” he answers cheerfully. Niall gives him a cheer and clinks his bottle against Louis’. 

“Tell us more about your kidney,” Zayn says and Liam turns to him with big eyes. He looks a lot like a golden retriever, Louis muses to himself. Especially with his hair all floppy in his eyes. 

“They were all wonky when I was born and dunno. Just haven’t ever been right? But it’s mostly fine, as long as I don’t drink. I go to checkups, like, too. They did loads of tests but they could never figure it out, I guess.” 

“That’s weird,” Harry says all in a breath. “But, like, really sick.” 

“Um… thanks?” 

“If we’re talking about medical stuff, I’ve got four nipples.” 

“No, you don’t,” Louis says and Harry nods enthusiastically. 

“Do too,” he says as he pulls up his shirt, proudly displaying his chest. “There, there, there and... there!” 

“Weirdo,” Zayn tells him, already fond, and leans forward to tickle him in the ribs. Harry yelps, trying to slap Zayn away with a hand and pull down his shirt with the other. Zayn’s relentless though, and Louis pitches in to help until Harry’s practically crying with laughter. 

“Stop being so mean,” Harry manages in between his breaths, twisting away to try and get out of their grasp. “I can’t breathe.” 

“That’s not good,” Niall says mildly from where he’s sitting with Liam, bumping elbows. “Kind of important, especially if we’re supposed to sing together.” 

“Is that what we’re supposed to be doing?” Zayn asks, tone dry as he flicks on the kettle. “I couldn’t tell.” 

“Twat,” Louis tells him as he tucks an arm around Zayn’s neck. Zayn rolls his eyes. 

Louis can tell they’re going to be best friends already. 

 

“Somebody tell me a secret,” Harry says on the second night, when they’re sunburnt and slightly tipsy and a little too full of sugar. 

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Harry,” Liam says nervously and Louis throws a balled up wrapper at him. 

“Course it is. How else are we supposed to know things about each other?” 

“Dunno, but I think asking near-strangers their secrets isn’t going to end well.” He’s met with a round of unimpressed looks. “Zayn, don’t you think that it’s a bad idea?” 

“Nah, it’s great. It’ll help us get to know each other, like,” he answers with Harry and Louis nodding with him. Niall shrugs. 

“I’m in, I suppose,” he says, accent long and heavy from tiredness. Liam lets out a long-suffering sigh, but he nods and tips back into the seat cushion.

Harry swings his legs up to tuck his feet under his thighs and leans back against Louis. He’s a nice weight against Louis’ side and Louis pats his head affectionately. 

“If you’re so curious to know everyone’s secrets, why don’t you go first, Harold?” 

“M’name’s not Harold. There’s a secret for you.” 

“Doesn’t count,” Zayn says around a yawn. “We knew that one already.” 

“Hmmm,” Harry drawls, voice already slow with sleep. “I used to be a baker, before this. That’s not really a secret either, I suppose.” 

“Any time now,” Niall teases and Harry pokes him in the leg with a toe. 

“I’m _thinking,”_ he protests. “Don’t have many secrets. Oh, I’m like deathly afraid of snakes. I’d probably scream if I had to touch one. Is that a good enough secret for you?” 

“It’ll do, I suppose,” Louis says, tapping him on the forehead. Harry’s eyes cross to watch his hand. “Your turn to pick.” 

“Nialler. Tell us a secret.” 

Niall’s quiet for a few minutes, idly playing with the label on a bottle before he answers. 

“I’m, like, properly claustrophobic,” he mumbles after a moment. “I get all panicky when I’m in closed spaces and I can’t breathe. It makes my heart race and it’s all shit. Don’t like it much.” 

“That does sound like shit,” Liam says apologetically. 

“Are you alright now?” Harry asks, tipping his head up to glance at him. “Do I need to move or summat? I can--” 

“No, it’s not like that. You’re fine. It’s when there’s a massive amount of people or something like that. Makes me feel like I can’t escape. You’re just alright.” Niall pats him on the shins and Harry settles back down, wriggling his toes so Niall laughs. “Oh yeah, it’s my turn to pick. Um, Liam. Your turn.” 

Liam jumps like he wasn’t expecting to get picked and then goes pink. Picking at a pillow seam, he’s quiet for a long time too. 

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Zayn says gently, nudging him gently in the side. “We can’t make you tell any secrets.” 

“No, s’fine,” Liam says, still picking at the pillow. “Everyone else is going, yeah?” He takes a deep breath, thinking, and then lets it out. “Um, I don’t… I don’t have a lot of friends, honestly. There’s one, his name’s Andy, but other than that, not many.” 

“That’s alright,” Zayn tells him and Liam shakes his head. 

“Because of that, no one came to my seventeenth birthday party. That’s the secret.” 

“Wait, what?” Louis says, dislodging Harry as he sits up straight. “Were they invited?” 

Liam nods, a tiny bit, and Louis frowns. 

“And they didn’t come? That’s fucking awful,” he bites out and Liam looks up sharply. “That’s a really shitty thing to do.” 

Liam gives a halfhearted shrug and Louis scowls, shaking Harry off as he crawls forward to give Liam a hug. It only takes a second before the rest of them are coming in too, petting at Liam and ignoring the way he’s gone a bit stiff. 

“Well, you’ve got loads of friends now,” Harry says fiercely once they’ve settled back. “We’re all your friends, and we’ll all come to your birthday parties.” 

“For sure,” Zayn agrees, giving Liam a fist bump. “When’s your next one, by the way?” 

“August 29th.” 

“Oi, that’s just next week,” Louis tells him. “We’re leaving to the Judges’ House but I reckon we can do something fun. Harry can bake a cake or summat.”

“Yeah, definitely.” 

Liam chews on his lip for a second, peeking up at them all through his fringe. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he says finally. Louis frowns at him and the other boys mirror him. 

“Yeah, we do,” says Niall, matter-of-fact and it’s the end of the argument. Something about the way he says it makes it impossible to push against, and Louis nods his head decisively. 

“See? We’ll take care of you, Leemo.” 

“Thanks,” Liam whispers and nudges his toes against Zayn’s. “Your turn, mate.”

“Ummm,” Zayn drawls, tipping his head back against the sofa. “Well, here’s one. I’m proper scared of water. I can’t swim and it’s just really fucking frightening.” 

“So no pushing you in pools,” Harry says wisely and gives Louis a warning look. “Did you hear that? No pushing him into the water.” 

“Frankly, I’m offended you’re singling me out for this. Why’re you doing that, Harold?” 

Harry shrugs, elbowing Louis in the side. “You seem like you’d be the one to do that. Doesn’t he seem like it, boys?” 

They all nod, even Liam, and Louis mock-glares at them for it. 

“Mental, all of you.” 

“Shut up and tell us a secret, Tommo,” Zayn says and Louis kicks him in the leg, lightly. Zayn kicks back. 

“I don’t know what to tell you lot. Don’t have a lot of secrets, me,” Louis mutters, scratching at his ankle without thinking. Glancing down, he catches sight of the black ink peeking out from under his joggers and sighs. “Well, it’s not _really_ a secret, but it’s important. I’m, uh. I’m married.” 

There’s a moment of weighty silence and Louis looks up to see them all staring at him, open-mouthed. He knows his cheeks are getting pink but he pretends like they’re not and pulls a face. 

“What?!” 

“You’re _married?”_ Harry says disbelievingly. His eyebrows are all knitted together. “I don’t-- how _old_ are you?” 

“Nineteen. Well, twenty in December.” 

“Bloody hell,” Zayn mutters, shaking his head. 

“I don’t believe it,” Niall declares and Louis rolls his eyes, pulling out the ring he keeps on a necklace. 

“Here. Don’t lose that,” he says and tosses it to him. Niall catches it, holding it up to inspect, with Liam looking over his shoulder. 

“Why don’t you wear it on your finger?” Harry asks. 

“Don’t like rings that much. And it just felt weird, dunno. Nick does, sometimes.” 

“How old is your wife?” asks Zayn, running a hand through his hair. Louis narrows his eyes at him. 

“Husband, actually, and he’s just twenty five. His birthday was last week.” 

“Husband?” Liam repeats, sounding a little daunted. Louis fixes him with a look, not as sharp as the one he’d given Zayn but not gentle either. 

“Yes, Liam. I have a husband.” He looks at the rest of them in turn, gaze fierce. “Is that alright with everyone, or do we have a problem?” 

Harry shrugs and slides closer, just by a miniscule amount. “S’alright by me. Who cares if you’re gay?” 

“Bisexual.” 

“Still don’t care,” Harry says firmly and Niall nods, hair flopping all over the place. Zayn’s the next to agree, waving a hand in the air like it’s nothing to him. Louis glances at Liam again. Jerkily, Liam nods and Louis copies it, satisfied. 

“Is he gonna be at the airport for us to meet?” Zayn asks. Louis makes a face and then looks down at his lap. There’s a tiny little hole starting to open in his joggers.

“Uh, no.” 

“Why not?” asks Liam and Louis winces. 

“I might not have told him I was auditioning. Or where I was going.” 

There’s complete silence for a moment. Louis picks at the hole in his joggers, frowning. 

“Louis,” Niall says carefully, “I’m not married, Christ, but don’t you think that’s a bad idea? Not telling him?” 

“Of course it’s a bad idea. Still did it, though.” He glances up to see them all watching him with various level of pity and concern, expressions that make his skin itch and the guilt twist in his belly again. “Oh, don’t give me those looks. I know what I’m doing, alright?” 

Zayn snorts. “You’re the only one of us, then. I have no bloody idea what’s coming next.” Niall and Harry nod enthusiastically, with Liam a little more hesitant. It makes something settle in Louis’ chest. 

“Well,” he says as brightly as he can manage. “Now that we’ve gotten _that_ out of the way, what should we name our band?” ” 

 

They go directly from the bungalow to the airport, sleepy and tired but finally feeling like they know each other at least a little. 

Louis snags the front seat next to Harry’s mum, much to the dismay of the other lads, and spends the drive shamelessly flirting. Anne laughs, but goes along with it good-naturedly. Harry hits him on the back of the head after a particularly bad line. 

“Why’re you chatting up my mum if you’re already married?” he complains as Louis rubs the sore spot. 

“Cause she’s fit,” Louis hisses back and Harry scowls at him, making a disgusted noise in his throat. 

“I’m going to tell him. Nick, was it?” 

“You don’t even know him, Harold,” says Louis. He should introduce them, though, even if the whole band thing doesn’t work out. They’ve got the same sense of humour and they’d probably take to each other like a duck takes to a pond. Filing it in the back of his mind for later, he turns back to Anne. 

“Don’t know how such a lovely lady like you raised a monster like our dear Harry,” he says as Harry howls his annoyance. It makes Anne chuckle again, looking at her son in the mirror and shaking her head sadly. 

“It’s a burden, that’s for sure,” she teases. Harry scowls harder. 

“Mu-um,” he whines and Zayn snorts a laugh at his tone. 

“Only joking, love. You’re a delight.” 

“A spoilt one,” Zayn mutters, just loud enough for Louis and Harry to hear, and Harry goes to pinch his nipples. A few days with Louis and he’s already following in Louis’ footsteps. Louis is stupidly proud. 

“Married?” Anne asks quietly over the sound of Zayn and Harry’s scuffle. Louis thumbs at a grass stain on the knee of his trousers. 

“Yeah.” He tenses, waiting for a comment or summat, a dismissive word because he’s so young. But Anne just smiles.

“Congratulations, then. How long?”

“Um, a few months? Since March.” 

“March,” Anne repeats, sounding pleased. “Oh, young love.”

“Mum,” Harry complains from the backseat. “You’re being sappy again.” 

Anne rolls her eyes but changes the subject to music instead. Louis sits back and interjects commentary, teasing Harry mercilessly until they get to the airport. 

“Oh, hold on,” she says. “I’ve got cupcakes for Liam. Happy birthday, love!” She hands Liam a box and the tips of his ears go pink as they all chorus happy birthday. 

“They don’t let us have candles otherwise we would’ve brought some,” explains Harry. 

“No, that’s fine. This is… fine. Thank you.” Liam’s voice is quiet, like he can’t quite believe what’s happening.

“C’mon then, time to sing,” Louis says and the four of them burst into a round of ‘happy birthday,’ Louis singing deliberately loud and off-key just to make him smile. Zayn ends it with a flourish and the terminal bursts into polite applause. 

“Our very first concert,” Niall says, pleased. “We’re gonna smash it, lads.” 

 

Louis has the _worst_ luck, really. Of course it would be him who stepped on a bloody sea urchin and had go to hospital before singing. 

They make him go even though he doesn’t want to because his foot’s all swollen and bleeding. Something about liability or summat, Louis isn’t really paying attention. It hurts too much. If he blows this for them, he’s never going to forgive himself. 

The hospital gives him some pain medication, just a bit to take the edge off, and tell him to come back if the swelling doesn’t go down. Louis nods, trying to stop himself from checking the time every fifteen seconds. 

“There’s not really much we can do,” the nurse says in accented English. “But you’re not allergic, it’s good.” 

“Very good,” he echoes. She smiles, signs a sheet, and waves him out the door. 

“Be careful, yeah? No more sea urchins.” 

The boys are waiting for him when the van drives up, all sat on the steps like they’ve been arranged that way. Maybe they have; Louis is all too aware of the camera crew following them around. Still, they run at him when he gets out, and he doesn’t think that was prearranged. 

“Nice to see you,” he says with a smile as they’re all wrapped around him. He somehow manages to hug them all at once, even being lifted up off his feet by Harry. 

They’re properly impressed by his swollen foot, asking him all sorts of questions.

“You can’t walk on that,” Harry says seriously and fits himself under Louis’ arm. “There’s too many stairs. Zayn--” Zayn’s there before Harry can finish, mirroring him and wrapping his hand around Louis’ waist. Liam catches his legs and then they shuffle their way into the house. 

Louis’d protest more but he’s really quite out of it and pinpricks of pain zing up his leg every time he puts weight on it. 

“We’re singing in about an hour,” Liam says when they’re inside, sitting in a room and Louis’ foot propped up on a pillow. “Reckon we should practice a bit.”

“We’ve split up all the parts already. We would’ve waited but…” Harry trails off, shrugging helplessly. Louis reaches up and ruffles his hair. 

“S’alright. I figured you did.”

He’s not got any solos. That’s fine, they probably were worried he’d not be back in time. It’s fine. Liam and Harry and Zayn are the best singers anyway; they need to put out their best foot and he’s not it. 

“Foot, ha,” he mutters to himself, chuckling. Niall gives him an odd look. 

“Are you alright, mate?” 

“They gave me pain medication. It’s getting to my head a bit, I think,” Louis tells him and NIall nods, cracking a smile. “Do you think we’re gonna make it?” 

Niall shrugs a shoulder. He’s not got any solos either, Louis realizes, and he slots their fingers together, feeling like he’s got to protect him. 

“I think we’ve got a chance. I hope so.” 

“Me too,” Louis says, squeezing Niall’s hand. 

“We’re on in half an hour,” Liam tells them anxiously, fingers pulling on his hem. “I’m going to get ready. Oh god, it’s almost time.” 

“It’ll be great, Leeyum,” Zayn says, voice kind. “Come and help me pick out something to wear, yeah?” 

Louis very strongly suspects Zayn doesn’t need the help, but Liam nods and follows him out anyway. His back doesn’t look as tense at it did. Niall leaves too, chattering with Harry about something, and Louis tips his head back against the headrest. He should be getting ready as well but he still feels groggy and sore, so he waits for a moment. Fishing out his phone, he pulls up Nick’s name. 

He’s not talked to Nick in ages, not really. He’d sent little texts and got short answers instead, so completely unlike Nick. It makes his heart hurt and his lungs go all wonky. It takes a moment, but he eventually taps out a reply. 

_did something stupid today !! stepped on a sea urchin and hurt meself haha. went to the A &E but i’m all fine_

He drops his head against the wall and stares up at the ceiling, tracing invisible lines. Simon’s house is too posh for there to be actualcracks but if he squints hard enough, he can almost see them spiralling out above him. 

His phone buzzes in his hand and he nearly drops it, startled. 

_**You went to the A &E? Are you alright?** _

**__** _yeahhh they gave me medicine i’m fine !!_

_**What the fuck Lou? Where are you that you stepped on a SEA URCHIN?** _

**__** _stepped on it in the water_

_**Louis where are you??? I thought you were going on a lads holiday?** _

**__** _i am !! having a blast. love you xxxxxxx_

Nick doesn’t reply right away and Louis leaves his phone on the bed as he goes to get ready, hopping along on one foot. The pain’s gone down a little so he can finally put his weight down but it’s tender. 

The boys all look incredibly nervous when they meet up again; Niall’s chewing on his fingers and Harry looks pale and about to vom. 

“Hey, mate. What’s going on?” 

“Stage fright,” Harry manages. Louis edges away from him a bit. “I’ll be fine once I get out there.” 

“Hey now, don’t panic. We’re just gonna go sing for two people. That’s it, two people.” 

“Yeah, but it’s Simon--” 

“Still a person,” Louis replies and rubs at his back a little. It seems to calm Harry down; he takes in a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “There you are, love.” 

The producer calls them up and Harry loses whatever colour he’d gotten back. He’s shaking and so Louis grabs his hand and gives it a tight squeeze for a second. They line up, smile at Simon, and start to sing. 

 

They make it through. Of course they do. The boys crowd in for a hug, screaming and crying, and Louis feels like he’s on top of the world. 

 

That feeling doesn’t go away, not after a night, not after they fly back to England, not after he apologises to Nick in kiss after kiss after kiss but no words. Nick doesn’t seem to mind; he kisses back just as fiercely and the skin by his eyes crinkle when he smiles. 

“Missed you,” is all he says, half smothered by Louis’ skin. Louis tangles his fingers in Nick’s hair and can’t help the little gasp that escapes when Nick bites. 

“Love you,” Louis replies around a shiver. “Love you, love you, love you.” 

Nick laughs, low in his throat, and Louis can feel his chest shake. “You’re such a sap, oh my god.” 

“S’true, though.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Suppose I love you too.” 

 

Saturday night is hot, too hot to go out and do anything. Louis strips to his pants and sits on the sofa with a fan pointed at him instead, drinking a beer and watching whatever’s on the television.

“So is this married life, then?” Nick asks as he drops down at the other end, also in his pants and also with a beer. “Lounging around on Saturday nights? Remember when we were young and went out dancing?” 

“Too hot to dance, Nicholas,” replies Louis, digging a toe into Nick’s thigh until he jumps. 

“So we’re going to watch shit telly instead? How glamourous.” 

“If you don’t like it, we can do something else.” 

“Nah, just teasing, darling,” he says, catching Louis’ foot and tickling the bottom. Louis jerks away and kicks him in the leg. 

“Prat.” 

“Just a bit, yeah,” agrees Nick cheerfully, tipping his head back to drink at the bottle. Louis watches him for a moment and doesn’t blush when he gets caught. “Ooh, you’re a perv.” 

“Just a bit,” Louis parrots, leering. Nick makes a decidedly unsexy face and Louis laughs as the adverts end. “Hush, this is a very important programme.” 

Nick mimes zipping his lips shut and draws circles on Louis’ leg, fingers cold from the drink. It feels nice against his overheated skin, though, so he doesn’t say anything. They watch for awhile in silence until Nick’s phone goes off and he picks it up, sending Louis an apologetic look.

“It’s Mum,” he says as he stands and wanders off to the kitchen. It doesn’t really make a difference; their flat is too small and Nick’s voice is too loud. 

“Tell her I said hi,” Louis calls back as Nick goes “Hi, Mum!” 

There’s a beat of silence. 

“Wait, what did you say?” Nick asks. Louis can see his shadow pacing from his spot on the sofa. “No, I didn’t-- what? You’re joking.” More quiet as Nick listens, making tiny affirmative noises that he does without thinking. “Mum, you’ve got to be taking the piss. No, of _course_ I didn’t know-- _our_ Louis? I don’t-- on the _X-Factor_?” 

Louis’ head snaps up to look at Nick over the back of the sofa, abruptly going cold. Nick’s standing with his back to him, hand pulling in his hair and holding the phone to his ear. His back is tense, Louis can tell even from here, and Louis’ heart sinks. He drops down on the sofa again and tries to keep breathing normally. 

“Yeah, I’ll, erm. I’ll call you later. Love you, Mum. Yeah, will do. Bye.” 

Nick rounds the end of the sofa in two steps, yanking the remote control from under Louis’ leg and flipping through the channels until he lands on ITV. 

“Nicholas,” Louis says uncertainly, his heart about level with his knees, and Nick shakes his head. He doesn’t talk as he rewinds the programme, images flying past the screen, until he finally stops it. 

Niall’s crying on screen, right after they’d all been rejected from being solo acts, and the camera cuts to the group of contestants. Louis’ name isn’t read but he does catch sight of himself, chewing on his nails and wearing Nick’s old cardigan. He looks terrified and excited, and watching himself on the screen brings everything back. 

Nick’s completely expressionless when Louis risks a glance at him, watching the telly with a blank look. He doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch during any of it. Louis isn’t sure he’s even breathing. 

They show a close up of his face and there’s no denying it’s him, if there ever was a chance. Nick presses his lips together, just a bit. 

Simon gives the news and they all fall apart on the stage, hugging each other and nearly crying. Even though Louis remembers it happening, it still feels like that was someone else, someone other than him. 

The episode runs its course and Nick switches off the telly, dropping the remote back down to the cushions. 

“Nicholas,” Louis says again, reaching for him. He snaps his hand back when Nick shifts away, tenses. 

“Those times you went to visit your mum,” he begins slowly. The words sound hollow falling from his mouth and Louis gets even colder. “You weren’t really visiting her, were you?”

“I-- no. No.” 

“You were auditioning for _X-Factor._ ” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me?” Nick asks and Louis can hear the anger in his voice. Louis tries to reach for him again, fingers aching just to touch him, but Nick stands up and moves away. “I-- I can’t believe this. God, I can’t--” He laughs once, bitterly, and shakes his head. “I can’t.” 

And without another word, he shakes his head again and stalks out of the flat. The door rings in Louis’ ears until he can barely hear anything else. Dragging a blanket over his freezing body, he breathes in ragged breaths and waits for Nick to come back.

 

He’s still mostly awake when he hears the lock turning, echoing in the quiet of the flat. Startling upright, he flips on the lamp just as Nick drops his keys on the table in the entryway. He doesn’t say anything and neither does Louis. 

Nick takes his time, toeing off his shoes and putting everything away with an angry sort of methodicalness. He’s slow and tense and it drives Louis mental.

“I know you know I’m awake,” Louis says finally, not able to take the pointed silence any longer. Nick stiffens but doesn’t turn around. 

“Trying not to yell at you,” he says, voice tight as he straightens a book on the shelf. “I don’t like to do that.” 

“Why are you so upset?” challenges Louis. “It’s not like you’ve never done things without me knowing. I didn’t know about your show--”

“That’s different,” Nick hisses and whirls around. Louis blinks at the anger in his face .

“How? How is it different?” 

“Because that was my _job._ Do you get that? It was expected of me and it was like a promotion. It wasn’t sneaking off to audition for the fucking _X-Factor.”_

“You still didn’t tell me!” Louis says loudly, pushing off his blanket and standing up. 

“I did though,” Nick yells back. “I told you! You didn’t find out because your fucking _mum_ rang you up to say congratulations for something you had _no idea_ was even happening! Fuck, Louis, I didn’t even know you _liked_ to sing, for fuck’s sake. I thought you were going to do theatre or summat, but fucking _X-Factor?_ ”

“Why do you care if you knew or not?” 

“Why do I-- because I’m your husband! We’re married! We’re supposed to know these things about each other.” 

“I don’t know everything about you, Nicholas!” Louis retorts, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring. Nick throws his hands up, shoving one hand through his hair. He looks nearly wild with anger. 

“This isn’t what you feel about a television show, Louis. It’s something you cared enough about to actually go and audition for, and I had no idea. Can’t you see why that’d make me upset?” Louis keeps glaring at him, chin tipped up defiantly. “Why don’t you just trust me?” 

“I trust you,” Louis says immediately. Nick rolls his eyes. 

“I don’t think you do, actually. Cause if you did, you’d have been like ‘oh, Nick, I’m thinking about auditioning for a singing competition’ and I’d have been like ‘yeah, sounds great! I know that’s been a dream of yours!’ and probably gone with you and held your hand or summat. _That’s_ what it means to trust someone,” Nick finishes firmly. Louis knows his cheeks have gone red but it doesn’t stop him, it never does. 

“Well, I didn’t know that’s what you would’ve done, did I?” he nearly shouts. 

“That’s where the _trust_ part comes in, you idiot!” Nick shouts back and Louis flinches. The fight goes out of him all at once, his shoulders folding in on themselves. 

“I didn’t want you to be embarrassed if I didn’t make it,” he says, barely louder than a mumble. 

“I’m disappointed now-- wait, what? Why would I think that?” Nick takes a step forward when Louis doesn’t answer, brushes his arm. “Lou.” 

“Do you know my geography teacher told me I’d never amount to anything?” Louis tells him quietly. He feels a bit like he’s on fire from the inside out, flames smoldering across his skin. Nick looks a mixture of confused and horrified. “He said that if I kept acting like I did, I’d never amount to anything and I’d just be a failure.” 

“Louis, no--”

“No one wants a failure for a husband.” 

Nick’s quiet for a moment, still glaring but it’s mixed with sadness now. 

“That’s not how it works, love. I wouldn’t think that and no one worth their salt would believe it either. Not getting on _X-Factor_ isn’t-- it’s not a disappointment to anyone, okay? Fuck, the fact that you’ve gotten past Bootcamp is fucking amazing.” 

“Judges’ House,” interjects Louis. Nick frowns at him.

“What?”

“I-- we made it to the live shows. Simon put us through, me and the boys.” 

Nick stares for a moment, a myriad of emotions flashing across his face too quickly for Louis to catch. 

“You made it to the live shows? And you still didn’t tell me?” 

Louis shrugs. “I didn’t know how to.” 

“Just like that, maybe. Fuck, you’re going to be competing, really competing? That’s incredible.” 

“Yeah, it sort of is. Fuck knows I’m the weakest one of the lot, but yeah. We’re moving on.” 

“Don’t say that about yourself,” Nick chides, folding him into a hug. It’s one of Louis’ favourite things, Nick’s hugs, because he’s just the right height for Louis to bury his head in Nick’s chest. He takes a second to breathe, Nick’s arms around him and Nick’s cheek pressed to his head. It’s lovely, safe and warm. Louis feels something settle in him. 

“M’still mad at you,” Nick mumbles. 

“I know.” 

“Still love you, though.” 

Louis smiles and tightens his grip just a tiny bit more. 

“I know that too.” 

 

“Are you dating anyone?” the producer asks, looking down at her clipboard. She’s got long nails on that she likes to tap against the back. It’s a little bit of a mesmerising sound. 

Louis smirks, just a little bit. 

“Married, actually. Civil partnership.” 

“Married? You’re only nineteen.”

“Yeah,” he agrees and arches an eyebrow. “It’s relatively new. Six months now.” 

“What’s her name?” 

“Nick. _His_ name’s Nick.”

She looks up at that, sweeps her gaze up and down his body thoughtfully. Louis shifts in his seat. 

“That explains the civil partnership. Are you gay, then?” 

“Bisexual,” he corrects quietly, fighting down the urge to make a sarcastic remark. Something about this all sits strangely on his skin but he doesn’t say anything. All part of show business and all that. “We’d rather that not be made public, though.” 

“The gay part?” 

“The married part,” says Louis in an annoyed tone. “If possible, that is.” 

She shrugs and shakes out her hair, pulling it back behind her ear. 

“It’s possible, I guess. No one will expect you to be married at nineteen. Should we say you’re single, then?” she says, brusque and professional. 

“Could do. Or like, just say I’m in a relationship. Dunno, just not widely advertised.” 

She shrugs again. Louis sort of wishes he caught her name. 

“In a relationship, not married, not gay,” she says and scribbles notes down on her clipboard. 

“I’m not--” he starts and gives up halfway through. She’s not going to listen, why waste the effort. He frowns at his shoes. “Is knowing my relationship status really that important?”

“Yes,” she says, not looking up from her note taking. “It’s important for marketing purposes. We’ve got to know how to sell you boys, how to present you in a way that makes you accessible.” 

“To who?” 

“Whoever makes up your fanbase.” 

“That’s ridiculous.” 

“That’s being a celebrity,” she says, slightly sharpish, and locks gazes with him. “The next thing you’re going to say is that you want to be _authentic,_ but let me tell you, that will get old really quickly. You can’t _be yourself_ when everyone’s watching your every move or you’ll go mental. You won’t have anything for yourself. Now, my job is to figure out what bits of you are best and help you learn how to show those instead of showing every little bit of your soul to the public. No one here is natural, everyone’s got some sort of persona to help you stay sane. Got it?” 

He blinks, shifting uncomfortably in his seat again. Nick’d told him as much but actually hearing it from a producer’s a little disconcerting. He nods and the producer leans back in her chair, pleased. 

“Well, Mr Tomlinson-- it _is_ Tomlinson, correct?” He nods. Him and Nick never got around to picking which last name they’d keep; too much arguing had led them to staying as is. For now, at least. She smiles thinly at him and clicks her pen. “It’s been very nice meeting with you. Good luck on your live shows.” 

“Thank you,” he mutters and resists the urge to immediately go shower. They shake hands and he leaves with a bad taste in his mouth. 

 

Nick’s the definition of peaceful, taking a nap on the couch in the sunshine. Louis smiles down at him for a moment, unable to keep the fondness off his face. Not that it matters, no one’s looking right now. With a sigh, Nick curls his arms a little closer and turns his face further into the pillow. 

“Darling,” coos Louis, gently stroking Nick’s cheek right before dropping on top of him like a bag of rocks. Nick startles awake with a huff, looking very confused and very grumpy. 

“I was sleeping,” he mumbles as Louis rearranges himself so his body’s fully covering Nick’s. 

“Mmhm, and now you’re awake.” 

“Let me guess, you were bored and needed attention?” 

Louis tucks his face into the crook of Nick’s neck to hide his smile. “Something like that.” Exactly like that. 

Nick hums, smoothing a hand down Louis’ back, and his breathing gets deeper, more regular. This isn’t why Louis woke him up but it really does feel nice, matching their breaths together. He presses a tiny sleepy kiss to Nick’s skin. 

“Did you get me tickets to the live show? S’in a few days, isn’t it?” Nick says and Louis starts a bit. He’d thought he was asleep. 

“What?” 

“The live show.” 

“I didn’t… I didn’t know you wanted to come?” Louis says slowly. He knows Nick’s frowning without looking. “You were so upset and like, it’s at night so you’d have to take off work.” 

“Yeah, but you’re my husband.” 

“Okay?” 

“And you’re going to be on the _X-Factor_. Of course I’m going to come and watch. It’s important, innit?” 

Louis hides his face again, ears hot. He’s fucked up again. 

“You don’t have to come to all of them.” 

“I’m going to try.” 

“Sorry I’m such a shit husband,” he says, very, very quietly. Nick doesn’t speak for a moment, just strokes lightly at Louis’ hair. It feels nice. 

“You’re not, love. Just a little silly. But so am I and we’re learning.” 

“You hate school.” 

Nick snorts and Louis can _hear_ him rolling his eyes. “This isn’t school. Unless you want it to be, but that’s a bit kinky, innit?” 

“Hot, though,” teases Louis, sitting up a bit so he can grin down at Nick. “Do you get to wear the schoolgirl skirt or should I?” 

“Forget silly, you’re fucking ridiculous.”

Louis pushes his hands into his quiff instead of answering, messing it up so it’s wild. Nick makes a tiny noise in protest but doesn’t stop him. 

“I think you need a haircut.” 

“Probably,” agrees Nick. “But then you wouldn’t play with it nearly as much.” 

“ _Now_ who’s ridiculous,” Louis says and gives it a sharp tug. Nick’s very long, very nice eyelashes flutter, just for a second, and Louis can’t stop the smirk that slides across his face. “Spoiler, it’s you.” He pulls again and laughs when Nick makes a silly face, making one right back. “I’ll see about those tickets.”

“Do that,” he says amicably and Louis taps his nose. 

“I don’t appreciate you telling me what to do, Nicholas.” 

“Darling,” drawls Nick, lips tipping up into a smile. “I would never.” 

 

There’s a party the night they move into the X-Factor house, one with no cameras. Louis invites Nick, even though they’re supposed to be keeping a low profile, because he’s only just realised they’re going to live separately. The thought makes him sad. He doesn’t much like sleeping alone. 

Nick moves through the group like he’s known everyone for ages, the effortlessness that comes with experience and natural charm. Louis leans against the wall and contents himself with watching Nick, letting him be the centre of attention for a while. 

“Hiya,” Harry says, sidling up to him. “Whatcha doing?” 

“People watching,” Louis answers and nods at Nick. Harry’s gaze follows his and his eyebrows pull down into a frown.

“What’s Nick Grimshaw doing here? I didn’t think he had anything to do with the _X-Factor.”_

Louis gives Harry a weird look. “I invited him.” 

“What? Why? How?” Harry asks, frowning deeper.

“He’s my husband, why wouldn’t I?”

It’s Harry’s turn to look at him strangely and then swings his head back to stare at Nick, mouth dropping open. Louis bites down on the laugh that’s bubbling up. 

“Wait, what? _That’s_ the Nicholas you’re always talking about? Him?” 

“Well, yeah,” says Louis, quirking an eyebrow. “Who did you think I was talking about?” 

“Not bloody _Nick Grimshaw,”_ Harry whispers hotly, sneaking a look across the room. Louis really does laugh this time, can’t hold it in very well. 

“You know who he is?” 

“Yeah, I listen to his show sometimes. And I used to watch _Freshly Squeezed_ too. Alexa Chung’s well fit.” 

“She’s nice too,” Louis says without thinking and Harry turns to him with big eyes. 

“You know her?”

“Erm… yeah. Went to a party of hers once, actually. It was pretty sick.” 

“Can you introduce me?” Harry says seriously. Louis rolls his eyes. 

“Maybe, if you’re really good. She’s Nick’s friend, though. Not mine.” 

“Who’s my friend?” Nick asks, appearing next to Louis’ side. Louis grins up at him, leaning into him a bit. Harry’s eyes are still wide and they only get wider when Caroline Flack follows Nick into their circle. Louis had forgotten they were friends too; Nick knows everybody. 

“No one,” Louis says after a second of watching Harry panic. “Nicholas, this is Harold. He’s the baby in the band. Harry, this is Nick.” 

“And this is Caroline,” says Nick. “You’ll get to know her _very_ well over the next few weeks.” 

Caroline smiles, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m so excited about your boyband. It should be fun, yeah? I’ve hear you’re all well talented.” 

Louis and Harry shrug in unison and it makes Caroline’s smile bigger. 

“Grimmy, darling, I’m going to go talk to Simon for a bit. Nice meeting you boys,” she says, pressing a kiss to Nick’s cheek and then disappearing back to the other side of the room. Harry looks a little dazed. Louis snickers a bit, tipping farther into Nick’s side. 

“So, Harold.” 

“Harry,” Harry mutters, scowling. “Louis never gets it right.” Nick looks delighted, chuckling. Louis can feel it reverberate against his skin. 

“I like him already.” 

“I knew you two’d get on,” Louis says smugly, watching as Harry’s scowl slides off his face into a smile. “You two have the same shitty sense of you humour.” 

“Hey,” Nick and Harry protest, nearly at the same time, and Louis grins. Tipping his head back, he manages to catch the pout on Nick’s face, and outright laughs. 

“The start of a beautiful friendship, just watch.” 

Nick lets him go with a pat to his hip and a little shove. “Shouldn’t you be mingling, love? Networking, making connections with various people?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” says Louis with a roll of his eyes. He motions at Harry. “Let’s go find Niall and see if he’ll do shots with us.” 

“Not what I meant,” Nick calls after them, but they’re already speeding off in search of their bandmate. It doesn’t take much cajoling to get him to drink, not much at all.

 

“How’s life, then? Are you partying it up being a popstar?” Nick asks, voice still warm and familiar even over the fun. Louis smiles, pushing on the bunk above him with his toes. 

“Yeah, s’good.” 

“So descriptive. That told me everything I need to know about your week.” 

“It’s not as glamourous as you think it is. We mostly take pictures and practice. Not really popstars, love.” 

“Mm, sure you are,” says Nick. “I saw you last week. You sounded proper good, looked it too.” 

Louis hums and presses harder, lifting the mattress up with his feet. He hopes no one’s there or he’ll get yelled at. “It’s fun,” he replies finally. 

“That doesn’t sound happy.” 

“No, it is. I’m having an amazing time, I am.” 

“But…” Nick prompts and Louis sighs. It feels like it’s being drawn deep from inside him. It feels nice, he doesn’t think he’s had a good deep breath for ages. 

“I’m pretty sure Liam almost punched me the other day. I mean, I was being silly and not listening, but we’d been practicing for _hours_ and everyone was tired. We needed a break and fucking Liam doesn’t like us to have any fun.” He picks at a sticker on the underside of the mattress frame, pulls where it’s coming off from the wood. “Also, I don’t have many solos.” 

“Oh, Lou.” 

“I get why,” he says over Nick because he’s not sure he can handle the sympathy. “I’m not the strongest singer in the band and it’s a competition, but. It feels a bit shit.” 

“Course it does, love. You don’t have to feel bad about it.” 

“I’m massively thankful for the opportunity, don’t get me wrong, I just really… I really wish I could do more, you know?” 

“You don’t have to justify it to me,” Nick says gently. “It’s alright if you feel like that.” 

“Love you, Nicholas,” Louis nearly whispers, suddenly and desperately missing him. He wishes he could be back in bed. He’s not been able to sleep nearly as well now without Nick’s gentle snores beside him. “What if I snuck away tomorrow night? Are you busy?” 

“After work? Nope, I’m all yours.” 

“Just what I like to hear. Always mine.” 

Louis can practically _hear_ Nick rolling his eyes. “So territorial. I’d say it’s annoying if it wasn’t a tiny bit hot.” 

“Everything I do is hot.” Nick laughs at that, actually laughs, and Louis makes a face down the phone at him. “I am the pinnacle of hotness.” 

“Oh, you wish.” 

“I’m offended, Nicholas.” 

“What else is new?” Nick asks and it’s Louis’ turn to roll his eyes. “Anyway, meet you tomorrow? I’ll pick you up at the normal place after midnight.” 

“Sounds about right. Can we get pizza?” 

“I can’t wait to see how you’re the _pinnacle of hotness_ when you’re stuffing your face full of pizza. Mmm, that’s sexy.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Love you, Lou. See you tomorrow,” Nick says and hangs up with his laughter echoing down the line. Louis is smiling despite himself, so much fondness in his chest that he feels like it’s a physical thing. He rolls off the bed and goes off in search of someone to bother for a while, get rid of excess energy. 

Zayn’s the first one he finds, reading a comic on the sofa. Louis ruffles his hair so it’s a mess and looks angelic when Zayn glares. 

“Don’t give me that look, you know it’s just going to get styled later,” he says, sitting down next to Zayn. 

“How do you know it hadn’t already been styled? Maybe I just got out of hair.” 

“We’re not going anywhere for hours, Zaynie. That didn’t happen.” 

“Might’ve,” Zayn grumbles but he closes his comic and gives Louis his full attention. Louis likes it when that happens. “What’s gotten into you?” 

“Nothing,” sings Louis and Zayn narrows his eyes. 

“Have you got plans with Nick? Again?” 

“Don’t give me that tone, I’m allowed to miss my husband. Don’t be like Liam,” says Louis dismissively and then wags his eyebrows. “Plus, I’ve not had a shag in _days_ and I’m getting twitchy.” 

“You’re so gross,” Zayn says, hitting him with a pillow. “I don’t want to know about your sex life, for fuck’s sake.” 

“Well, that’s really not much. I could tell you a lot--” 

Zayn groans and covers Louis’ mouth with a hand. 

“No, please stop!” he nearly yells. Louis licks his palm until Zayn snatches his hand away. “Gross, Louis.” 

“S’what you get,” Louis says serenely. 

“I can’t believe you’re an _adult_ and _married._ ”

Louis wrinkles his nose to combat the smile that’s threatening to overtake his face, which happens nearly every time someone mentions Nick. He makes himself sick, honestly. 

“It’s startling, but it speaks to my incredible maturity.”

Zayn snorts. “ _Maturity,_ ha! I don’t think you’ve been mature a single day in your life.” 

“Rude.” 

“Am I wrong, though?” 

“Probably not,” Louis concedes through his teeth and does not smack Zayn when he smirks. Partially because Niall comes in and drops down next to him on the sofa, lifting Louis’ arm and snuggling on it. 

“Heya, lads. What’re we talking about?” 

“Louis’ maturity,” says Zayn immediately and Niall lets out a bark of laughter. 

“Oh, that’s funny.” 

“Niall,” Louis says solemnly, glaring at them both, “you’re very cute, but I’m afraid you’re both going to have to leave the band for being so rude. I won’t stand for it.” 

“Whatever,” Zayn mutters and Louis makes to pinch at his chest. It turns into a scuffle easily enough, both of them toppling to the floor and Niall cheering both of them on from his safe perch on the sofa. Harry and Liam wander in halfway through. 

“Could you not fight,” Liam asks, exasperated, and Louis pauses from where he’s got his hands wrapped around Zayn’s wrist. 

“We could, but where’s the fun in that?” 

“You’re both children,” Harry says airily before helping Louis tickle Zayn until he’s nearly purple. Liam shakes his head. 

“It’s just fun, Leemo,” says Niall, patting the space beside him. “Getting their energy out.” 

Liam doesn’t look convinced, but he sits down and stops complaining for a while, so Louis counts it as a win. 

“I think I’m gonna take a nap, boys,” Louis tells them around a yawn, when they’re done fighting and they’re just laying knackered on the floor. Zayn smirks at him. 

“You’ll need it cause you’re not getting much sleep tonight, right?” 

“Pervert.” 

“Why aren’t you gonna get sleep,” asks Liam. Niall answers before Louis can open his mouth. 

“He’s going to see his darling Nick.” 

“Louis, you’re not supposed to sneak out of the building--” 

“I know that, but it’ll be alright. I’ve done it before.” 

“Louis--” 

“Don’t make a fuss, I’m trying to nap,” says Louis, pillowing his head on his arms. “Don’t worry about me.” 

 

Louis successfully sneaks out the next night and manages to eat a pizza in the sexiest way possible, which is ultimately not very sexy. Nick, the idiot, is still laughing when he pulls Louis’ joggers and pants off. Louis tries to tell him off for it but it’s overshadowed by more pressing issues. Nick’s mouth is really very distracting. 

“Your mouth is distracting,” he says as disapprovingly as he can. Nick grins, biting a bit at his hip so he jumps. 

“I know. I use it to my advantage whenever I can.” 

“Bastard.” 

“Oh, hush or I won’t blow you.”

Louis mimes zipping his mouth closed and lets his legs fall open a bit more, invitingly. Thankfully, Nick gets the hint. 

Later, when they’re sweaty and sated and sleepy, Louis rolls over and nudges at Nick’s side. 

“Hey,” he says quietly. Nick cracks an eyelid. “You know I trust you, right. Like, entirely.” 

“I think I know that, yeah.” 

“Just in case you didn’t. After everything that happened, with the auditions and shit, I just. I wanted you to know. I trust you a whole fucking lot.” 

“A whole fucking lot?” 

“Yeah,” Louis says, curling in closer and tangling his feet with Nick’s. “And I’m sorry about it all. I wasn’t-- I wasn’t thinking and I’m sorry.” 

Nick presses his lips to Louis’ forehead for a moment. 

“I forgive you, love. Always will, probably,” Nick answers softly. Louis tips his chin up for a kiss and gets it. “What brought this on tonight?” 

“Dunno. Couldn’t stop thinking about it. I still felt weird about it even though we made up. And made out,” he adds on an afterthought. 

“Classy,” Nick deadpans. 

“Thanks.” 

“You know I’m going to support you, yeah? In everything you do. I’ll be your personal cheerleader, like. I can even get the outfit if you really want it.” 

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” 

There’s a moment of quiet and Nick’s breathing evens out a little, but Louis’ mind is still racing enough to keep him awake. Nick shifts, draping an arm around Louis’ waist and bumps their noses together. 

“What else can’t you stop thinking about?” 

Louis hides his face in Nick’s chest for a moment, just breathing. Nick knows him so well that sometimes it makes him hurt, his body aching with how much he loves him. 

“I want to get to the finals so fucking badly.” 

Nick’s arms tighten around him. “I know, babe.” 

“If we don’t it’s gonna be my fault.” 

“Now _that’s_ not true.” 

“Isn’t it?” Louis says with a shaky sigh. “M’afraid I’m not good enough. That I’m dragging the boys down with me.” 

“That’s the biggest load of shit I’ve heard. You made it into the band, didn’t you? You’re at the live shows. That’s fucking amazing and part of it was because of you. You aren’t bringing anything down,” Nick tells him firmly and Louis can almost believe it. He takes a deep breath, nestles closer, and puts everything out of his head except sleep. 

 


	4. please stay, for this fear it will not die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note that there is a moment of self-harm at the end of the chapter. nothing graphic, but i wanted to make sure you knew going into it.

**[please stay, for this fear it will not die // louis // 2013]**

 

Louis checks his phone for the third time in five minutes. There’s still nothing, no texts or Whatsapp messages, not even a fucking SnapChat. He could’ve sworn he felt a vibration but apparently not. Apparently it was just his desperation. 

Nick’s awake, Louis knows he is. It’s not quite late enough for Nick to be asleep, even when he’s getting up at five in the morning like a grandad. Eight o’clock is a perfectly reasonable time to be awake. 

He’d sent a text thirty minutes ago. Nick still hasn’t responded even though Louis _knows_ he’d seen it; he’d tweeted about _Sweat the Small Stuff_ right before. 

_are you ignoring me ?_ He texts, emboldened by the whiskey he’d nicked out of the dressing. Maybe not the best idea, with an entire show still to do, but he’s angry and the alcohol numbs it a bit. 

_fuck you_

That one wasn’t such a great idea. There’s no way to take it back now. 

“Mate,” says Niall, dropping down on the sofa next to him. “You alright?” 

“Yeah, fine,” Louis bites out, shoving his phone deep into his pocket and pushing away all thoughts of Nick. Niall gives him an appraising look. 

“Want to try that again?” 

There’s still an ugliness snarling in his chest, one that feels like it’s going to rip open his skin if he lets it. Breathing hurts. 

“Nick’s not replying.” He pauses for a minute and wonders if he can sneak another sip of whiskey without Niall noticing. Probably not. Definitely not. “We fought earlier.” 

Niall’s expression goes from curious to sympathetic in a second. 

“Lou…” 

“It’s fine,” he answers. It’s not fine. It’s their third fight in as many days, a real fight and not their usual bickering. The kind that makes Louis lash out and want to punch something and kiss Nick until he’s breathless all at once. 

“What’d you fight about?” 

“Don’t remember.” It was the distance, again. The distance and the jealousy and the fucking burning possessiveness that both of them can’t help but feel. He can’t remember the last time they had a normal conversation. “All we ever fucking do is fucking fight.” 

Niall lays his head on Louis’ shoulder and presses in close. 

“I was home for four fucking months and we didn’t go a week without hurting each other. That’s not what it’s supposed to be like, is it? I’m tired of it.” 

“Louis--” Niall starts again just as Paul comes bustling into the room, herding them all into position to go onstage. Niall gives Louis a quick kiss on the top of the head before jumping up and following directions. 

“Do you think I’ll fuse into the sofa if I just stay here long enough?” Louis asks the nearly empty room. One of the crew members jumps, looking confused.

“Are you talking to me?” 

Laughing, Louis heaves himself up and shoves his feet back into his shoes. “Nah, I wasn’t. Talking to meself.” 

His phone’s still silent, and it pisses him off. He wants something, _anything_ , from Nick. 

 

When Louis checks his phone again after the show, there’s only one message.

_**darling you’ve done that already** _

He throws the phone into his suitcase and doesn’t look at it for the rest of the night. 

 

_why’d i even marry you ?_

_**how the fuck would i know?** _

**__**

_it was a mistake._

He stares down at the message for a long time, the ugliness back in his chest. It nearly makes him sick. He wants to vomit but there’s nothing in his stomach except for water. 

He could send it. He knows how much it’d hurt and he could do it. The thought of Nick being in pain still makes his stomach tie up in knots, though. Knowing he’d be the one who hurt him makes it nearly unbearable. 

With a sigh, he erases the message, double checking that it’s truly gone. 

_i married you because i loved you_

He doesn’t send that one either and can’t explain why. It feels too much like he’s giving too much away, somehow. 

Louis isn’t quite sure when he started hiding how he was feeling from Nick again. Probably when Nick started doing the same thing.

 _i miss you_ , he sends instead because it’s too late and even though he’s fucking angry, he really misses Nick. It’s like an ache that pulses through his veins, how much he misses him. It’s one bit of honesty he’ll allow himself tonight. 

_**are you coming home soon?** _

**__** _not for another month._

_**cool [thumbs up]** _

Louis opens a beer to wash out the bitter taste in his mouth and to give him something to do with his hands, something that isn’t texting Nicholas. 

“How are things with you and Nick?” Harry asks casually over breakfast the next morning. Louis stabs a sausage with a sour expression. 

“Why?” he says before taking a bite. Harry shrugs, but there’s something too calculated in his eyes. “You’ve been talking to him?” 

“No,” answers Harry, suddenly uncomfortable. Louis snorts. 

“You can’t lie for shit, Harry.” 

“He’s worried about you and I am too.” 

“Tell him to mind his own fucking business and to ask me himself if he thinks there’s something wrong. There’s not, by the way.” 

“Not what?” 

“Anything wrong with me and him,” says Louis around another massive bite. It’s not even that good, but he’s famished and also it’s an excuse not to look at Harry’s pleading gaze. 

“I don’t know if I believe that?” 

“Did Nick tell you that too?” 

“No, I can just tell. You’re upset, Louis, and we all can tell.” 

“I’m fine.” Harry twists his mouth in the way that means he doesn’t agree. Louis stabs at his eggs next, glaring at his plate. “I’m fucking fine. Text fucking Taylor Swift or whoever you’re always talking to on your phone and leave me the fuck alone.”

It’s too far and Louis knows it, but he can’t quite find himself to care. Harry’s face crumples and he leaves without another word, going down to talk to Liam and leaving Louis all alone. 

_**stop taking out your anger on harry** _

**__** _stop fucking using him as a messenger then ._

_**you’re a ray of fucking sunshine today, aren’t you love?** _

**__** _fuck off_

The rest of the month goes by like that, angry texts from Nick and worried glances from Liam and gentle prodding from Harry. Louis wants to rip his hair out. 

Songwriting doesn’t help like it should, with Julian and Liam looking over his shoulder at every word. Every word is about Nick. Louis doesn’t want to share that just yet. He gathers up his notebook and flees the makeshift studio they’ve set up in a hotel room. Running to the lift, he jams his thumb into the button for the highest floor and prays he can find a way out onto the roof. 

Sometimes, when he’s writing, he likes to be as far up as possible, as close to the stars as he can get. He reckons they help him with the songs. There’s a tune running through his head, faint like he’s not listened to it for a while, but it’s nothing he’s ever heard before. He hums it over and over so he won’t forget. 

When he comes back down again, exhausted, there are the bare bones of two songs sketched out in his journal. They’re not good, not yet, but they’re _something_. They’re also still about Nick, but not in ways he thinks anyone else will notice. 

He’s gotten pretty good at hiding that part away from everyone else. It’s just for them and he intends to keep it that way. 

 

The last note of their show in Lisbon hangs in the air and resonates through Louis’ body long after they scramble off stage and into the waiting cars. He feels like he’s going to shake out of his skin with anticipation and desperation. 

They were given a chance to stay in Lisbon for one night or catch a late flight out to London. Louis chooses the latter, too impatient to spend a minute more than he has to on tour. The flight isn’t too long but it’s still nearly fucking unbearable when Nick’s waiting for him on the other side. 

Finally, he gets let off the plane and onto home ground. Nick’s not waiting for him at the airport. It’s too crowded and there are too many paps, and Louis wasn’t expecting him to but still. It would’ve been nice. 

He lets himself into the flat as quietly as he can. It’s a weeknight and Nick has work early in the morning, something Louis’d forgotten until just then. The flat is quiet and familiar in a way that makes Louis’ heart warm. He toes off his shoes and makes his way to his bedroom, letting out a muffled curse when he runs into a table. Nick’s rearranged, again. That’s becoming a tradition, Louis coming back from a trip to find the flat different from how he left it. 

The bedroom’s a bit lighter with the moon streaming into the room. Nick likes waking up with the sun.

“If I’ve got to get up early then I might as well see something beautiful while I’m doing it,” he’d insisted when Louis had complained. 

“Is my face not beautiful enough for you?” 

“Nope,” Nick said cheerfully, putting his large hand over Louis’ face. Louis licked his palm but it didn’t deter him, too used to Louis’ tricks. “Waking up to your ugly mug is a chore. S’why I need the sunshine.” 

“Prick,” Louis had told him fondly, muffled through Nick’s hand. It makes Louis’ heart twinge in a strange way thinking about it now.

He slips off his clothes until he’s just in his pants and clambers quietly into bed, tucking up behind his husband’s sleep-warm body. Nick makes a little mumbling sound when Louis kisses his shoulder but doesn’t wake. It makes everything in Louis settle, like he’s sliding back into place. It’s the best feeling in the world, being back with his husband. 

 

It’s a lot less nice the next morning, when Nick’s alarm goes off like a bloody siren and doesn’t stop for what seems like an eternity. Louis groans, pulling a pillow over his head, and praying for the noise to shut off. 

“What the fuck,” he grouches when it does. “Why’d you get a job at fuck o’clock in the morning?”

“Good morning to you too, darling. Welcome back.”

“Fuck you,” Louis says, pulling his head out of the bedsheets and squinting around. Nick looks sleepy and a little guarded, bustling around the bedroom and finding all his things. It’s not quite the morning Louis had anticipated. 

“What time did you get in last night? I didn’t even hear you.” 

“Two? Dunno.” 

“Poor babe,” Nick croons and ducks out of the way when Louis throws a pillow. “I’ve forgotten how lovely you are when you’ve just woken up.” Louis throws the other pillow. “I’m not going to give those back.” 

“Why do you have to be such a morning person?” Louis says, pulling the duvet over his head. “Why’d I have to go marry a wanker?” 

There’s something forced in the way Nick laughs, but Louis is too tired to do anything but notice it. He’s just drifting off when there’s a strange clicking sound and a large weight lands on his stomach.

“What the hell?” he shrieks, scrambling out from under the duvet. There’s a dog sitting on him, mouth stretched wide in a grin. Louis blinks at him for a moment. “Nick, who the fuck is this?” 

“What?” Nick yells back and pokes his head back into the room. His face goes weird when he realises, looking shifty. “Oh. That’s a dog.” 

“I can see that, Nicholas. Whose dog?” 

Nick makes another face, like he’s in pain. “Um. My dog?” 

“Your dog?” Louis repeats dumbly. “You got a dog and didn’t tell me?” 

“Her name’s Puppy Power Forever,” offers Nick. Louis glares at him. 

“That’s fucking awful name. When the hell did you get a dog?” 

“A week or two ago? I’m sure I mentioned it to you.” 

“You most certainly did not. What the fuck, Nick? This isn’t something you can just do without talking to me first.” 

Nick rolls his eyes in the mirror and runs his hands through his hair, pulling it up into a quiff. 

“It’s a dog, not a child.” 

“Yeah, but we’re married. You’re supposed to run it by me first. What if I’d been allergic or summat?” 

“I know you’re not, and also you love dogs. I don’t really see what’s the problem.” 

“It’s more the principle of the thing--” 

“Listen, I’ve got to get to work. I’m nearly late already and I don’t want to do the link in the car, alright? We can fight about this later. I’ll let Puppy out in the garden and you let her back in when you wake up again, alright?” 

“Nick--” 

“Ta, love,” Nick says, scooping up the dog and nearly running out the door before Louis can say anything. He’s left the light on and Louis waits until he hears him leave before getting up to switch it off. 

 

He gets up a few hours later, groggy with the remains of sleep and tour. He’s nearly forgotten about Puppy but a sharp bark makes him snap his head around. Pulling the door open, he lets the excitable dog in to sniff at his feet. 

“Hi, love,” he says sleepily as she noses at the bottoms of his joggers and he leans down to scratch at her head. She’s really fucking cute, honestly. He can see why Nick bought her. 

The door goes as he finishes his cup of tea; he’d slept later than he thought and Nick’s back home. He looks a little harried when he walks in, windblown and tired, and his shoulders go up when he spots Louis. 

“You’re awake,” is all he says as he dumps his bag on a chair. Louis shrugs, draining the dregs of his mug. 

“Just barely. It’s me first cuppa.” 

Nick switches on the kettle and leans a hip against the counter, eyeing him with a tiny smile on his face. “How was tour? Did you meet any famous footballers? Wreak havoc? Shag any fans?” 

Louis snorts at the last one. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not cheating on you. I won’t, ever.” 

Nick doesn’t seem entirely convinced and that hurts, it hurts a lot, but Louis doesn’t push it. Not today, not when he’s just gotten back. 

“Liam and I did steal a golf cart a few times and rode it around the venue. It was fun.” 

“Sounds like it,” Nick murmurs, bending down to pet at Puppy as the kettle clicks off. Neither of them move to grab it. 

It’s awkward, in a way that it’s never been between them before. Louis doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to talk about. He’s been gone for a few months and can’t think of a single thing to tell Nick. Nick seems to be having the same problem. 

“When did you get Puppy?” 

“Few weeks ago. Three, maybe. She’s cute, isn’t she?” 

“Very. She looks like you.” 

That shocks a laugh out of Nick, albeit an uneasy one. 

“She should be so lucky,” answers Nick as Louis gets Puppy’s attention. She abandons Nick to pant in front of Louis, demanding a tummy rub. He obliges. She’s a soft thing and she closes her eyes as Louis pets her brown ears, deliberately not looking at Nick. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were getting a dog?” he asks finally, glancing up. Nick leans back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table like he does when he’s nervous or thinking. 

“I didn’t realise it would bother you so much. It’s just a dog.” Louis doesn’t say anything and Nick sighs. “I got lonely without you around, okay? I can’t have friends sleep over every night, especially if they suddenly can’t when you’re back, and I don’t do well in silences. I was driving myself mad every night.” 

“You should’ve said.” 

Nick scoffs, looking very fierce all of a sudden. “What were you going to do about it when you’re off halfway around the world, being a popstar?” 

“Well, we could’ve figured out something--” 

“I did. That’s why I got her.” He motions to Puppy who lets out a particularly loud snore. “That was my solution.” 

“You could’ve said,” he repeats and he knows he sounds petulant but he can’t quite fix it. It hurts in a way he didn’t expect it to, this little thing. Nick’s face twists a bit. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore, darling. It’s been done and I’m not giving her up anymore, so. You can live with it.” 

“I just would’ve liked some say. It’s my house--” 

“Yes, it’s your house that you bought for us with your boyband money. I’m very grateful that I get to live here too. I’d be sorry for getting a dog that could potentially destroy it, but I think you’d do that more thoroughly than Puppy ever will.” 

“Nick.” 

“Why must you always make such a big deal out of things, Louis? It was supposed to be a surprise.” 

“I was definitely surprised,” he mutters meanly and Nick makes a low, hurt sound in his throat. 

“Can’t you just be agreeable for _once in your life?_ Christ.” 

“I’m not _angry_ at you,” Louis shouts. His hands are white from the effort of not letting them shake. “I’m just-- oh, forget this. You don’t listen anyway.” 

“Try saying something meaningful for once, and I’ll listen,” Nick snaps, getting up abruptly. He dumps his dishes in the sink and whistles so Puppy jumps up, trotting after him. 

Louis lays his head down on the table and tries to think calming thoughts. It doesn’t work, instead he thinks about the stupid songs he wrote on tour: _how could someone not miss you at all_ and _right now I wish you were here with me_ and _when I’m not with you I’m weaker._ They’re all about Nick in some way or another and _god_ he wishes he could just come out and say that. 

There’s a burn on the tabletop from when he’d put down a scalding pot of soup without a trivet. Nick had scolded him but also had decided it looked a bit like Danny Devito’s head. They’d laughed for ages. Louis rubs at it a bit and Nick reappears with Puppy on a lead. 

“We’re going out for a walk. We’ll be back in a half hour or so.” Nick hesitates for a moment and then smiles thinly. “Take a shower. You’re a bit ripe.” 

Louis nods. The little triangle tattoo that matches Louis’ is peeking out of Nick’s sleeve and Louis can’t take his eyes off of it. He scratches the matching one on his ankle. Nick doesn’t notice, too busy getting his bearings, and Louis doesn’t look away from his back until the door swings shut. 

 

They make dinner and they watch telly in relative silence. It’s not an easy silence but neither of them can bother to fill it. Finally, painfully, Nick switches the telly off and stretches, his back faintly popping. 

“I’m going to bed. Are you coming as well?” 

“Yeah,” Louis answers quietly, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m coming.” 

He changes as Nick does his routine in the bathroom and it’s silent then too, every rustle as they get into bed amplified. It nearly makes Louis’ head hurt. 

Nick switches off the light and they lay in the darkness, not touching. 

“Goodnight,” Louis says after a moment. It feels like there’s a canyon between them and he doesn’t know what to do to close that gap. He turns on his side and closes his eyes, willing himself to sleep. 

And then, just before he drifts off--

“Don’t leave,” Nick whispers, suddenly and desperately. The sound makes Louis’ chest ache. “Louis, please don’t leave me.” 

Turning over, he finds Nick’s face in the dim light and traces it with his eyes, traces every familiar freckle and wrinkle and expression. His chest feels tight and cramped, like there’s not enough room for his heart and lungs. 

“I’m not. I won’t,” he whispers back and watches as Nick squeezes his eyes shut. “Promise.” 

 

In the end, it’s Louis that wakes up alone.

 

“Fuck him,” Louis mutters, dumping his things in a pile on the floor. “Fucking fuck Nick fucking Grimshaw.” 

Puppy looks at him and cocks her head to one side, like she almost understands. Louis scowls at her too, for good measure. Nick’s stupid dog with her stupid face and her stupid cute expression. 

“It’s a fucking _Saturday_ and we were meant to have this day _all to ourselves_ and Nick fucking _disappeared_.” 

He’s furious, to put it lightly. Kicking the pile of clothes, he sends a pair of pants and a shirt skidding across the floor. It’s not very therapeutic but he does it again, just in case. 

“What if I burn all of his things? Dump it out in the garden and set it on fire, make smoke signals. Do you think he’d come back if he saw that?” 

Puppy whines, probably at his sharp tone. 

“No, I don’t think he would either. Fucking prick-headed wanker.” 

He kicks the pile again and stubs his toe on the bedframe instead, nearly howling at the sudden sharp pain. Just his luck.

He misses Harry. He misses living with a third person so he wouldn’t have to be alone, ever. 

Growling to himself, he collapses back on his bed and glares at the ceiling. There’s a crack running the width of the room that he should probably get checked out, if he can remember. It wouldn’t do to have the rest of the building come crashing down on their heads.

“Unless it’s just Nick in the bed,” he says to the room. The room doesn’t answer. “Then the building can fall on him all it likes. It’ll maybe knock some sense into him.” 

Puppy barks once and Louis rolls over on his belly to reach the phone he’d left under the bed. Ignoring the hundreds of emails he’s supposed to have answered already, he pulls up Instagram and is greeted with a picture of Nick and his friends. They’re at some sort of restaurant, Nick looks flushed with alcohol and _happy._ Louis scowls and scowls harder when he catches sight of Harry’s familiar head. 

He hates this jealousy burning up him from the inside, making his stomach sick from it. He doesn’t like how it feels but he can’t stop it either, looking at Nick grinning. He hadn’t smiled like that with Louis in a long time. 

“C’mon, Puppy,” he says loudly, the walls suddenly too constricting and the ceiling suddenly too low. “We’re going for a walk.” 

She knows that word and she starts going mental, bouncing around the lounge while Louis hunts for his shoes and her lead. He steals one of Nick’s jumpers, a nondescript black one that won’t be linked back to Nick if Louis gets caught. Puppy could do that, though. He’ll have to be careful. 

Clicking the lead to her collar, Louis and Puppy run out of the building and out in the neighbourhood. There’s a park somewhere, a nice one. Maybe he should’ve brought a football instead of a tennis ball.

The park is quiet and peaceful, fitting for a Saturday morning in late May. There’s a mum pushing a pram a ways away, and an older couple sitting on a bench. It’s nice, no paps and no schoolgirls to corner him. The day is almost nice enough to lighten his mood, but not quite. The trees are green and there’s a nice breeze. For once, it’s not raining, even though it looks like it might start soon. 

He lets Puppy loose and she runs around happily, nosing at trees. Louis tries to take deep calming breaths like Harry’d taught him on one of his yoga kicks. It’s supposed to give him inner peace, or summat like that, but it doesn’t work very well. Getting really fucking wasted sounds like a better idea. 

Puppy comes back with a stick in her mouth, tail wagging wildly. Louis takes it from her and scratches her ears. There’s a pub not far away, a little one that had to have half-decent beer and hopefully they’ll let dogs in too. 

He ducks into the pub and blinks in the dimness. It’s grungy and the bartender gives him an annoyed look when he spots Puppy, but it’s mostly empty and they’ve got an old footie game playing on the telly. Louis orders a pint and slides into a booth so he’s half-hidden from the door. 

Nick’s face is still at the top of his Instagram, his lovely face that Louis hasn’t kissed in so long, not since he got back. He’s not had the chance yet. It feels like they’ve been running slightly adjacent to each other instead of on the same frequency like normal. It’s jarring and upsetting and Louis hates it almost as he hates the jealousy. He takes a gulp of his beer. 

They’d swore when Louis got the recording contract that they wouldn’t let the distance bother them. Nick had been adamant about that. 

“It’s your dream, Lou,” he’d said. “And Liam’s, and Niall’s, and Harry’s, and Zayn’s. You can’t just give that up. We’ll work it out if there’s a problem. We always do, don’t we?” 

It all seemed fine when they were just moderately known in the U.K. They hadn’t planned on becoming pop stars, it hadn’t even been a possibility. 

“I miss him so much,” he mutters to the table. He can say it when no one’s around to hear it, apparently. 

He asks the bartender for a bowl of water when he orders a second pint and sets it in front of Puppy. She laps at it eagerly. 

He stops after the third pint because he can’t justify getting truly day drunk, not when it’s already making him melancholy. The beer swims in his stomach and he’s a little lightheaded, but it’s not too bad. He’ll sober up by the time he gets home, he hopes. 

It’s pouring down in sheets when Louis goes out, to his dismay and Puppy’s delight. She runs straight for a puddle and rolls around in it before he can stop her. When she emerges, she’s soaking wet and covered in mud from snout to tail. 

“Oh, fuck,” he says unhappily and she lets out a happy bark, standing up to shake. Louis’ eyes go wide and he holds his hands up in some useless move to protect himself. “Oh, fuck,” he repeats again as Puppy flings mud everywhere, including all over him. She’s so muddy that it doesn’t do much except make Louis match. His mood darkens. 

“Fucking idiot dog,” he mutters as he tugs on her lead, trying to pull her home. “Just like your stupid idiot owner, aren’t you? God, I hate you both.” He doesn’t mean it, not that much. 

Nick’s still not home when Louis lets himself back into the building, even though it’s almost evening and Louis hasn’t seen him all fucking day. Louis gathers Puppy into his arms and hoists her up in a bid to keep her from ruining the carpet and the furniture, carrying her directly into the bathroom. He dumps her in the bath and starts the shower. 

“Would you hold _still_ , you stupid dog,” he says as she tries to dodge the spray. She barks at him and bites at the water. “You’re a mess and I can’t let you loose like this. Nick’ll be furious and we’ll fight again. It’s your own bloody fault anyway.” 

He uses some of his own shampoo because it’s cheaper; Nick’s special posh shampoo costs too much to justify using on a dog, even if she’s technically Nick’s. He strips down to his pants as well, figuring he’d might as well get clean. He’s already soaked, anyway. 

Puppy howls the whole time he rubs soap into her fur and whimpers when he washes his own hair, but outright starts yelping as soon as he turns the showerhead back on. The sound bounces off the walls and rattles around until Louis’ head hurts from the noise and the leftover alcohol in his system. 

“Would you _shut up,_ ” he yells and he’s embarrassingly close to tears, for some unfathomable reason. “Would you please just _shut the fuck up.”_

The door bangs open and Nick runs in, looking confused and angry. 

“What the fuck are you doing to Puppy?” he yells, taking in the scene. 

“We went for a walk,” Louis growls, soap in his eyes and in his hair, scratches on his arms and legs, and positively at his wit’s end. “Your fucking dog decided she wanted to take a mud bath and I was _trying_ to clean her up.” 

Nick stares for a second and then turns on his heel, heading towards the linen closet. Louis finishes cleaning his hair and rinses off Puppy the best he can, ignoring the sounds she makes. He shuts off the water as Nick returns with two towels. He throws the nicer one at Louis’ chest and bends down to wrap Puppy in the ratty one. 

Nick rubs Puppy dry, murmuring calming words as he does. Louis fumes. 

He pulls on a soft t-shirt and a clean-ish pair of joggers, plucked from the pile of clothes still strewn across the floor. If Nick noticed the mess, he doesn’t say anything about it. Louis stomps back to the kitchen where Nick is pulling out a Diet Coke. 

“Do you want one?” he asks and closes the fridge before Louis can answer. “Why’d you go for a walk?” 

“Why’d you go out with your friends?” Louis counters, a bit viciously. Nick narrows his eyes. 

“Because we made plans ages ago. Was that a problem?” 

“I leave next week.” 

“Yes, darling. I’m aware,” Nick replies, sipping at his drink. Louis wants to snatch the can away and possibly throw it somewhere. He doesn’t, but it’s a close sort of thing. “Is that a problem?” 

_Yes, it’s a problem,_ Louis wants to scream. He refrains and says it calmly instead, just barely. Nick rolls his eyes. 

“It’s just lunch.” 

“It’s a _Saturday_.” 

“What is your fucking problem lately? First with Puppy and now this, what’s going on with you, Louis?” 

“Sorry that I want to spend time with my _husband._ ” 

“It was just a lunch with my friends!” 

“You were gone all day, Nicholas. All fucking day.” 

“So it went long. I’m sorry you’re jealous or whatever,” Nick sneers. It’s not a pleasant looks.

“I woke up and you were gone and it’s been _hours_ and I’ve been all by myself and when you get home, all you do is fucking _yell_ for something I did and get mad at me for being upset. What the fuck, Nick?” he shouts, giving into his anger. He’ll probably regret that later but now he can’t quite care. 

“Sorry I wasn’t around to entertain you, popstar. That’s not my fucking _job,_ ” Nick shouts back, hands balled into fists at his sides.

“I’m only here for eight fucking days.” 

“Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I know that you’re here for barely a week and then flying off to the other fucking side of the world for fuck knows how long?”

“Then why are you going out--” he cuts himself off before he can say _instead of spending time with me_ but Nick doesn’t notice. 

“I’m allowed to have a life with my friends when you’re around,” Nick answers coldly. “I’m _allowed_ that, Louis. I _need_ it, even, because when you fuck off to go on tour then who else am I supposed to talk to?” 

“You can have your friends, of course you can, but you picked them over me.” 

“I literally went out to lunch with them. That’s not picking them over you, you idiot.” 

“You could’ve invited me.” 

“Could I have?” Nick shoots back and crosses his arms over his chest. “You wouldn’t have turned it down?” 

“I--” 

“You would’ve refused to go out with us because you don’t like my friends and you refuse to try, and you refuse to be seen with your husband outside of this flat because _god forbid_ people think you’re _married to a man_.” 

“That’s not fair, and you know it.” 

“You’re not a budding musician now, Louis. People do not care if you’re gay or bisexual or whatever. They don’t, you can come out.” 

“If I remember right, this was all _your_ idea.” 

“Yeah, but it’s changed. I’ve changed, you’ve changed, the world has changed. We just celebrated our third fucking wedding anniversary and half my friends don’t even know I’m in a relationship. Do you not see how fucked up that is? So, yeah, pardon me if I go out with my friends every so often because I need a fucking break.”

“Eight days, Nick,” Louis says a bit weakly and Nick shakes his head. 

“I’m not gonna wait around for you to come home and isolate myself away from the world. That's shit and I won't do it. That’s not what I promised when I made those fucking vows. I’m not just gonna sit around and wait for you, at your every beck and call.” 

“That’s not what I wanted.” 

“It’s what it fucking feels like, though.” 

Everything in Louis shatters, exhaustion and frustration and every negative emotion too much for him to hold anymore. 

He can’t anymore. He just can’t. 

“You’re the one that told me not to leave you alone last night,” he says scathingly. “Do you remember that? You practically _begged_ me not to leave and then it was you who left. Why’d you do that?” 

“You can’t leave me if I leave first, can you?” 

Louis feels the words in his chest like a physical thing, a knife twisting right under his breastbone. He can’t quite breathe through the pain. 

“I’m not going to leave you,” he manages. 

Nick doesn’t say anything to that, just looks at him. 

“Nicholas, I’m not.” 

“You will, though. You were always too good to settle for me.” 

Nick’s quiet for a moment, anger etched into every line of his body. Louis can feel the tension in his own shoulders, in his stomach, in the air between them, thick and heavy. He’s keenly aware all of a sudden that they’ve barely touched in ages and ages and ages. 

He’s not sure what happens exactly, who moves first, but suddenly his back’s against the wall and Nick’s hands are on his body, and his lips are white-hot on Louis’ skin. Gasping, Louis curls his hands around Nick’s arms and digs his fingers in. It’ll leave marks but that’s what he wants, he wants Nick to have a reminder and have a punishment for all this. 

Louis is still angry, so fucking angry, and Nick is too. Their kisses are more teeth than tongue, more biting than actual kissing. Louis slips his hand under Nick’s shirt as Nick’s mouth latches to a pulse point on his neck, and he leaves scratches when Nick bites. Nick twitches at the feeling, teeth breaking skin, and _god_ does it feel good. 

Everything they can’t say being pressed into their bodies, and Louis already knows it’s going to end in disaster. He doesn’t have enough self-preservation to actually stop. 

Nick’s hands pin his hips to the wall when they buck up, seeking friction or _something_ , and Louis growls at it. 

“Desperate, are we?” 

“Fuck off, Grimshaw,” Louis retorts, wrapping his hands around Nick’s wrists. He doesn’t know if he wants to push him away or pull him closer. His whole body is on fire. Nick angles his hips away so they’re not flush with Louis’ anymore, ducking his head to lick at the lovebite on Louis’ neck. 

A whine drags itself from Louis’ throat, one he didn’t give permission to make. 

“I hate you,” he breathes. Nick lifts a hand to thumb at Louis’ mouth, not looking him in the eye. He stares at his mouth instead, and Louis stares at him. Nick’s eyes are wild and hungry and angry, but so, so sad as he looks down at Louis’ lips. It’s almost enough to cut through Louis’ rage, almost enough to make him push up on his toes to wrap his arms around Nick’s neck and never let go. 

Nick dips to kiss him and it’s oddly tender, a contrast to everything else that happened tonight. Louis drinks it in like he’s been thirsty for years and the anger slowly seeps out of his toes. 

And then, Nick’s hands go to the waistband of Louis’ joggers, pulling them down. Everything goes hot and sharp again with the feeling of Nick’s fingers and his mouth, a last lingering bit of rage stuck in Louis’ chest like a ball, just enough pain to let him know Nick’s not forgiven him yet. 

 

The moonlight spills in through the gap in the curtains Louis forgot to close, too caught up in other things to think about. It paints Nick’s back silver, lights up the sheets wrapped around his waist. Louis sits in the shadows with his chin propped on his knees and watches Nick breathe. 

He should be asleep too but despite his exhaustion, his mind wouldn’t let him rest. He’s sitting here instead, overthinking and struggling not to cry. If he concentrates hard enough, maybe he can shut off all his emotions. If he concentrates hard enough, then maybe this won’t hurt so much. 

He reaches his hand over, watching it go silver too, and smoothes it down the skin of Nick’s back, as lightly as he can, right over Nick’s spine. Nick shivers but doesn’t wake, and Louis does it again. He can’t help himself. 

Nick shifts, turning so he’s facing Louis now, and Louis lightly drags an index finger across the planes of his face: down his nose and swiping across his eyebrows, drifting lightly down his eyelids and then, like Nick had done to him hours before, brushing the tip of his finger against Nick’s mouth.

“Love you,” he whispers into the stillness and leans down to press his lips to Nick’s forehead. Nick doesn’t move then, and doesn’t move when Louis slips out of the bed, gathers his belongings, and disappears out the door. 

There’s a car idling on the street and he climbs in it quietly, feeling like he’s run three marathons. Taking a minute, he drops his head back against the headrest and pulls in a deep breath. 

“Where to?” the driver asks after a moment, his voice cracking the quiet, and with it, something inside Louis. He blinks for a moment and then finds his voice. 

“Doncaster.” 

The driver nods, not commenting on the late hour or the sudden call, but just drives away from the house with a smooth motion. Louis spares one glance back to his home, aching and empty, and then turns back towards the road. 

 

His mum doesn’t say anything when he shows up on her doorstep at four in the morning like he’s sixteen again, just waves him in with a big yawn. 

“Need a cuppa?” she says, still wrapped in her dressing gown, and a tired smile on her lips. He worries his lip between his teeth and nods. The kitchen is familiar, scuff marks on the counters and dents in the cabinets. He’d offered to redo it for her but she’d turned him down. She liked the stories each mark told. 

“Are you alright, love?” she asks when the water’s boiling gently but not quite done. He shrugs. 

“Me and Nick had a fight. A big one.” 

“Oh, Louis.” 

“I don’t quite know how we’re going to come back from it,” he says quietly, staring at his feet. Him mum lets out a little sigh and shuffles forward to gather him up in her arms.

“You will. Promise you will.” She ruffles his hair and then pats him gently on the cheek. She has to reach up to do it but he still feels like he’s about ten years old again. Closing his eyes, he leans into the touch, into the feeling again. Tears prick at his eyelashes but he refuses to let them fall, here in the kitchen with a cooling mug of tea and his mother. 

“I think I’m going to go to bed,” he says finally, pulling back just a tad. She nods, eyes soft and thoughtful. 

“Your bed’s made up already.” 

“Thanks, Mum.” 

“Always, darling,” she answers, kissing him gently on the cheek. “Always.” 

 

He keeps himself busy, teasing Lottie about her boyfriend and arguing with Fizzy and picking the twins up from their school. It’s normal and he slips back into his old life like he never left. 

“Where’s Nick?” Daisy asks one night, brow furrowed. Louis looks over at her from the sofa and then down at his hands. 

“He’s back at our home, love.” 

“Why’s he not here with you?” Phoebe chimes in. “Is he coming later?” 

“No, he’s not. We had a fight and I needed a little bit of space. Plus, I hadn’t seen you in a while and I missed you lot.” 

Phoebe frowns as well and sticks her thumb in her mouth. 

“I like Nick,” announces Daisy. “He laughs a lot.” 

“He does, doesn’t he? I think he’s rather nice too.” 

“That’s cos he’s your husband! You have to think that,” she tells him and Louis’ chest goes tight again. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says quietly. 

“He’s still nice, though,” says Phoebe. Louis really can’t breathe. “A good brother. But you’re better.” She lays her head down on his shoulder and doesn’t protest when he kisses the top of her head. 

“I love you both, do you know that?”

“We know,” they say together and then Phoebe adds, “can we watch _My Little Pony_ now?” 

“Suppose,” Louis says and the girls cheer when he switches on the telly. 

One night, he goes out with his friends and they get absolutely smashed at the shitty club they snuck into when they were teenagers. He’d hoped it would improve his mood, make him a little lighter, but it just makes everything worse. Instead of laughing, he gets quiet and moody, drowning drink after drink until he can barely see straight. 

He vomits on the side of the road when they stagger home. It’s not his finest moment. Wiping his mouth with a hand, he tips against Calvin and tries not to sick up again, jarred by Calvin laughing at fuck knows what. It’s annoying. 

“ _You’re_ annoying,” Calvin retorts and Louis really hadn’t thought he’d said that out loud. 

He presses his lips together so he doesn’t accidentally say something else incriminating. They know he’s married but they don’t talk about it very often. _Louis_ doesn’t talk about it very often.

“Should’ve called a car,” he mumbles even though they’re nearly there. He takes in shallow breaths through his nose and concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other. 

He crashes at Stan’s, too wasted to let his mum see him like this, and falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

Upon waking in the morning, he finds that it’s not actually a pillow but rather a pair of Stan’s jeans. They’ve left an imprint on his face and they’re not the nicest-smelling, but then neither is Louis. In fact, he’s pretty sure he smells like actual death. His mouth tastes like it too and he gags as he searches for something to drink. It helps, but only just. 

His phone rings with a text. 

_**i didn’t know you were going to your mum’s,**_ Nick’s written. Louis fills up his cup with water again. 

_i left you a note_

_**what happened to eight days** _

**__** _figured i’d give you some space_

_**cos i’ll need SO much space when you’re in fucking america for months on end. would you stop making decisions for me????** _

Louis doesn’t know how to respond to that one. 

_you were mad at me_

_**yeah, but i didn’t want you to leave** _

**__** _you usually do, though_

_**you’re an idiot tomlinson** _

Louis’ phone dies in the middle of his reply and he doesn’t have the energy to hunt for a charger. Instead, he drops it on the counter and goes for a shower, nicking some of Stan’s shampoo and a clean towel. He vomits again but he feels marginally better afterwards, less like his stomach trying to crawl out up his throat. 

Tipping his head against the tile, he lets the too-hot spray wash over his shoulders and tries to gather himself together again. 

 

One Direction has a thing the night of their redeye to America, a fragrance launch. Louis’ not quite sure why they need a perfume, but they were told it was a good idea. It doesn’t smell like any of them at all. His sisters had liked it, though, so it must be good. 

He goes that morning to their flat, early enough that Nick’s still at work but late enough that they might overlap soon. It’s neater than he left it, his shoes nicely lined up and the piles of clothes he’d strewn about folded on a chair. That makes him stop for a second, swallowing hard. 

Shaking his head, he drags his tour suitcase out of the closet and stares at the empty depths. He hates packing alone, always has. It makes leaving too real, makes everything seem more real. 

Usually Nick’s there giving him input and entertaining him while he packs so he doesn’t get overwhelmed. Louis puts on an old episode of _Breaking Bad_ instead and listens to it as he starts sorting through clothes. It’s not that big of a deal; Lou will have most of their things for official appearances, but it’s nice to have a few things of his own. 

He chucks in his favourite joggers and t-shirts, a few jumpers because it’s bloody freezing in America with the aircon on, and the entirety of his pants drawer. Disappearing into the bathroom, he comes back with his razors and shampoo to dump in as well. He’s done in ten minutes, when he’s not procrastinating. 

He hesitates in front of the closet of Nick’s clothes, eyeing them. Nick’s got so many, he doubts he’ll notice if Louis steals a few things for the tour. He’ll give them back in August, probably. Maybe. Eventually, he takes the _Team Grimmy_ shirt that’s so soft, Louis’ favourite of Nick’s extensive hoodie collection, and the ratty old sweater that should have gone to the charity shop long ago but neither of them can part with. Louis tucks it carefully into his suitcase, in between two pairs of jeans. 

Checking his watch, he frowns. It’s only eleven; he’s got time until he has to get dressed for the launch. He orders his favourite takeout as an early lunch, absentmindedly ordering enough for two. If Nick’s not back in time, he’ll just put it in the fridge with a note. Nick should be back, though. He usually comes home straightaway. 

Louis waits and watches the clock tick down the minutes, watches the hours pass by until he’s going to be late for makeup and wardrobe. Nick’s still hasn’t come home. It ticks him off a bit. 

He leaves his apology on the takeaway in the fridge, on the back of the sticky note he’d stuck on the lid. It’s not enough, but it has to do for now. With a sigh, he lugs his suitcase out into the hallway and shuts the door on home. 

 

Jet lag isn’t _so_ bad when he can lay out in the sun, but it’s still a bitch. He feels disconnected and strange, lethargic in an awful way. It turns his mood sour but the boys are used to it by now. Liam shows up with a bottle of jack to ease it and it works, but not as well as the weed later that night with Zayn. They lay on the king-sized bed, strung out and heavy, staring up at the ceiling. 

Zayn shifts so his head’s tipped against Louis’ shoulder and it’s a nice, warm weight. The tattoo on his arm is still a bit red, healing and shiny. Louis resists the urge to poke at it. 

“Do you miss her?” he asks out loud. Zayn shifts to squint up at him. 

“Hmm?” 

“Perrie. Do you miss her?” 

“‘Course. I miss her like fucking crazy. It’s shit.” 

“It’s shit,” Louis agrees. 

“M’thinking about proposing,” Zayn muses, pulling the words out like taffy. Louis blinks twice. “Got a ring n’everything.” 

“That serious?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Congrats, bro. That’s like… a big deal. Yeah, that’s fucking massive.” 

Zayn hums, pressing a smile into Louis’ shirt. Louis drapes his arm around Zayn’s shoulders and tugs him closer, running his fingers through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Zayn’s humming gets louder. 

“You’ll give me advice, yeah? On the whole marriage thing.” 

Something twists in Louis’ stomach, sharp despite the haziness, and he swallows hard. 

“I, uh. Yeah. Course. Whatever you need.” 

“Thanks, bro,” Zayn mumbles, words even slower now. He sounds like he’s seconds from falling asleep, which might be true. Nuzzling into Louis’ neck a bit more, he presses a tiny kiss there. “Love you.” 

His breathing evens out as soon as he says it, gently snoring. Louis keeps stroking his hair and focuses on the ceiling again, blinking back unexpected tears. 

 

They’re not even halfway through their North American tour and he’s already feeling burned out, strung too thin, not quite present enough in his life. He makes an effort though, for the boys and for the fans. They deserve it, at least, and so he grins on stage every night and crashes in his bunk after. 

Nick barely texts. Louis doesn’t either, but he does turn on the radio while the bus is trundling to the next place and listens to The Breakfast Show. Nick sounds tired but alright and Louis is only a bit envious. 

One night, after a particularly good show, he doesn’t calm down fast enough. They’re there for a few days, somewhere in the north, and they don’t need to leave until the next morning. Louis feels restless, bouncing, buzzing for something to do. 

“Let’s go out,” he tells the boys. He‘s unsettled and manic; they’re all giving him strange looks. “C’mon lads, let’s find a club or summat to dance in.” If he goes back to the quiet bus or, god forbid, a solitary hotel, he thinks he might scratch his skin off. 

“You alright, Lou?” Niall asks and Louis barely refrains from rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, just wired.”

“We can see that,” Harry says with a grin and pulls him in for a hug. Louis shrugs him off as soon as he can, not wanting anyone to touch him right then. “What’s wrong?” 

“Buzzin’ from the show. Didn’t quite get it out of my system. Let’s go, please-- hey, Payno! You up for a lad’s night out?” 

Liam frowns at his phone for a moment, tapping out a quick message and then storing it in his pocket. Face sliding easily into a smile, he comes up beside them.

“What’s that?” 

“Louis’ a little mental, but he wants to go out to party. Are you coming?” says Niall and Liam gives Louis a considering look. 

“I could do with a pint or too, yeah. Someone call Paul and Paddy.” Harry’s already got his phone out, so he’s the one that texts them, sitting down by Niall. Louis can’t sit so he bounces a bit on his toes instead. It makes Liam laugh. “You alright, mate?” 

“God, would everyone _please_ stop asking me if I’m alright? I’m fucking fine, just a little ansty. It doesn’t mean I’m mental or depressed or anything.” 

“I know,” Liam tells him easily and puts a soothing hand on Louis’ shoulder. It’s heavy, but not as heavy as Harry’s hug had been, so he lets it be. “But you’re being strange.” 

He _feels_ strange, in a way he can’t quite explain. It’s not just post-show adrenaline, though that certainly isn’t helping, but an inability to stay in one place. Like he’ll shatter if he does. 

The lift dings open and Paul walks out with a bag on his arm, looking amused. 

“So we’re going out?” 

“Yeah,” Louis cheers and Paul laughs. 

“Alright, the car’s pulling ‘round in a moment. There’s a club about fifteen minutes away that looks good; we’ll head there. Oh! Wait, I’ve got mail for you, Tommo. It’s from the lawyers, they’ve marked it at urgent.” 

“What is it?” Louis says curiously as Paul digs out an envelope from his bag and hands it over. 

“No idea.” 

He’s not patient enough to wait, so he rips the top open almost immediately. It’s something official, at least from first glance, and he slides it out. 

_Principal Registry of the Family Division,_ the top reads, with Nick’s name neatly filed in on the lines underneath. 

It takes a moment for him to understand, for it all to sink in. 

Liam’s next to him, chatting away with Paddy, but he goes silent as soon as he sees Louis’ face.

“Louis?” 

“I need to be in my room right now. Can you please make that happen.” 

“What’s going on? You’re scaring me, Louis,” says Liam. Louis shakes his head. 

“I need--” his voice breaks and he shuts up before he completely falls apart in the lobby of this stupid fucking hotel. Liam nods once. Making some excuse that Louis doesn’t catch, he starts to walk them back to the lift. Harry and Niall give him twin confused looks, but Liam stops their questions with a shake of his head. 

Louis can’t breathe, can’t let go of his grip on the paper that’s threatening to tear. It’s like he’s turned to stone, unmoving, unbreathing, unblinking. 

The lift opens, finally, and Liam nudges Louis in towards the back, jamming a finger on their floor button. They don’t say a word the entire word up, nor during the walk to Louis’ room, nor when Liam sits Louis on the bed and goes into the loo. He comes back with a glass of water and a tissue. 

“For your face,” he says quietly and Louis starts. He doesn’t remember crying but he is, in that silent awful way that makes you think you’ll never stop. “Louis, what the fuck is going on?” 

With an enormous amount of effort, Louis uncurls his fingers from the papers and lets Liam takes a look. Liam scans the paper, face falling as he does, and then looks up with a horrified expression. 

“He wants a divorce?”

Louis’ entire body recoils at the word. 

“Yeah,” he croaks. He’s still crying. 

“Since when?” 

“I have no idea,” he answers helplessly. “I didn’t-- I didn’t know.” 

“Louis…” Liam says, equally as helpless.

“I love him.” The confession hurts and it brings a fresh wave of tears with it. He couldn’t stop them if he tried at this point. Liam tugs him forward, pulling him into a hug, and just holds him while Louis tries to get a handle on his tears. It doesn’t work, not really, but the comfort’s nice. 

And yet, even breaking down into Liam’s shirt, he doesn’t feel much. He’s numb to it, like the papers aren’t real, like he’s stepped sideways out of his body and it’s running on autopilot. Like his body knows what he’s feeling better than he does. 

He cries himself out until there’s nothing in him left. Liam runs a bath and Louis sits in the water, blank and numb and empty. 

His mum used to read to him, when he was little, and her favourite book was a book on fairytales. They read _The Little Mermaid_ over and over again, and Louis thinks about it now. He thinks about the mermaid having her heart broken and then turning into seafoam. Maybe he can do that too, stay in this bath for the rest of the life until he fades away, nothing but bubbles on the surface of the water, nothing but a distant memory in everyone’s mind. 

 

He’s sore when he wakes up in the morning, disoriented and confused. He doesn’t remember getting out of the bath but he’s tucked into bed, wearing an old sleepshirt of Nick’s that he stole ages ago. Someone’s asleep beside him, snoring gently and his feet tangled with Louis’. 

Louis turns his head and catches sight of the large chevron tattoo. Liam, then. He’s a good friend for staying after all that. 

His stomach rebels when he sits up, even though it’s empty and he’s painfully sober. Running to the loo, he dry-heaves into the toilet and grimaces at the taste in his mouth. 

The divorce papers are sitting on the table, put there by a responsible Liam. Louis wants to fling them out the window. He nearly does too, but he figures Nick’ll just send a second copy. He’s not sure he can deal with a second copy. 

The shirt he’s wearing still smells like Nick. God knows how; Louis has been wearing it for a while, but the scent’s suddenly overwhelming. He rips it off his skin and throws it into a corner, running his palms over his arms. He’s shaking. He doesn’t care. 

He’s not drunk yet and that’s a tragedy. He goes straight for the vodka in the minibar, not bothering to chase it down with anything. Who the fuck cares anymore. Certainly not him. 

The first bottle’s barely done when he twists open the second, slouched against the wall with his feet flat on the floor. Hanging his head down between his knees, he studies the grain of the carpet and takes a swallow every time he starts to think. 

 

“Louis?” Liam says groggily, sitting up in the bed and squinting across the room. Louis looks at him and then back at the carpet.

“‘Lo,” Louis mumbles when Liam’s feet come into view. He doesn’t know what else to say. Liam pauses for a moment and then sits down too, teasing the bottle out of Louis’ hands. Louis lets him have it. 

“Vodka already? It’s ten in the morning.” 

“Don’t care.” 

“You’re drunk already.” It’s not a question. 

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, shrugging a shoulder. Liam rubs some sleep out of his eye and frowns. The frown gets deeper when he pokes at it. “Feel like shit.” 

“Go figure.” 

Louis shrugs again. “Still better than before.” 

One of Liam’s hands wraps around Louis’ ankle, grounding him. It feels nice and Louis focuses on it for a while, trying to block everything else out. 

“What did I do?” he asks, almost before he realises he’s saying the words. Liam’s grip tightens but he doesn’t do anything. “I don’t-- What did I do to make him want to divorce me?” 

“Sometimes relationships just don’t work out, Louis,” Liam says gently and Louis shakes his head, making himself dizzy. 

“But it was good. We were good. We were…” he trails off and grabs at the vodka bottle again. Liam doesn’t fight him for it, just watches sadly when Louis downs half of it in one go, making a face at the burn. 

“Alcohol’s not going to help you in the long run.” 

“It will if I drink enough of it,” Louis retorts and Liam lets out a sigh. 

“It’s a good thing we don’t have anything today until it’s time to go. Lucky, that.” 

Louis laughs, tipping his head back against the wall. He hits it a little harder than he meant to but it feels good. A conduit for his pain, maybe.

“Lucky, eh? I’m sooo-- lucky.” 

He bounces his head back again and smiles at the thud. 

“No, don’t do that,” Liam tells him sternly. Naturally, Louis doesn’t listen. Liam sighs and stands, grabbing onto Louis’ arms and hauling him up. It takes some effort; Louis’ been sitting there for longer than he thought and his legs have gone numb. His head’s hurting too, from the alcohol and from the hitting, but it’s not as bad as it could be. It’s not as bad as his chest, his lungs still made out of stone. 

Liam manoeuvres him onto the sofa and away from any walls. Louis goes easily. There’s no point in fighting. 

“I never should’ve married him,” he says quietly. “It was a bad idea from the start. I never… I never should’ve--” His voice cuts out.

“It wasn’t a bad idea.” 

Louis looks at him and then at the pile of paper on the table, snorting. 

“Don’t kid yourself, Payno. It was a fucking disaster and I knew it and I did it anyway.” 

“You were eighteen, and you loved him.” 

“I’m an idiot. An idiot and a loser, just like everyone said.” 

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Liam says in his earnest Liam-way. Louis rolls his eyes and winces at the sharp pain that goes shooting down his temple. “If anyone’s an idiot here, it’s Nick.” 

“‘Preciate your loyalty,” Louis mumbles, suddenly so very tired. He feels exhausted, even though he’s just woken up but being unconscious for as long as he can sounds like a really fucking good idea. Closing his eyes against the sunlight, he sinks into the pillow and lets sleep take him. 

 

He shuffles through the papers eventually. He has to, they’re leaving and he can’t just leave them here. It’s all very official-looking and it makes him nauseous just looking at it. There’s a piece of notebook paper stuffed in among the legal ones, covered in Nick’s handwriting. 

_I’m sorry,_ it reads. _I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t._

Nick had cited “irreconcilable differences” as their reason for divorce and Louis doesn’t know what that means. He doesn’t even know what those differences could be. 

Except-- he remembers _please don’t leave me_ and the way Nick had been so sure of it happening, remembers Nick saying he’d rather leave first than be left. 

He balls up the notebook paper and shoves it into the deepest corner of his suitcase where it will never see the light of day again. 

 

Against his better judgement, he pulls up the Breakfast Show. It’s the dead of night and they’re lumbering along to _god_ knows where, but he can’t sleep now. 

He’s always been a sucker for pain, so he turns on the radio app and listens to it, alternating between anger and melancholy when Nick talks. It’s familiar and it makes Louis want to break open his chest, pull out his heart and throw it out the window so it can’t be broken again. 

He tries to spot any difference in Nick’s voice, but Nick just sounds like normal, sounds peppy and cheerful. 

Quite honestly, there’s very little in the world Louis would like to do more than deck him squarely in the face. 

The bus rumbles over a pothole and Louis’ phone slips out of his bunk onto the floor. With a groan, he leans out to pick it up again but someone’s already done it for him. 

“Harry,” Louis says, a little surprised. “I thought you were on the other bus.” 

“Decided to be in here tonight,” answers Harry with a tiny smile. It makes Louis uneasy, but everything about Harry makes him uneasy recently. He’s too close to Nick, reminds Louis too much of him. It hurts. 

Harry’s eyes flick down to the screen and he catches sight of the radio pulled up on the phone. 

“Louis--” he says, face crumpling and Louis snatches it from his hands, hastily clicking it off.

“Don’t,” he tells him harshly. “Don’t, because then I’ll cry. And I’m tired of crying, I’m so tired of it.” 

Harry nods, a little uncertainly, and makes an aborted movement towards him, like he was going in for a hug. Louis hugs him instead, wrinkling his nose when he gets hair in it. 

“Don’t tell him, please. He’s obviously fine about it.” 

“He’s got to be a little upset,” says Harry, frowning. 

“Doesn’t sound like it. Plus, it was his decision so he can’t be too upset.” 

Harry doesn’t particularly look like he agrees, but he doesn’t argue.

“Do you want me to print out a picture so we can throw darts at his face?” he offers instead and Harry’s so grateful for it. “It would be fun.” 

He’s tempted, a bit, but he’s not going to make Harry do that. Nick’s his best friend too. “No, thank you. Just don’t... don’t leave me for him. If you’re his friend and not mine-- I couldn’t stand it.” 

Harry’s eyebrows knit together and he’s close to tears again, Louis can tell. 

“I’m not gonna do that, Louis. I promise,” he says, voice watery. “You’re my best friend.”

Louis manages to smile at him and hops back in his bunk. “Wanna cuddle? I’m a bit greedy for it recently, I’m afraid, and no one cuddles better than you.” 

Harry happily obliges, crawling up next to him and somehow wrapping his entire body around Louis’ middle. He sniffles a bit but Louis pretends not to notice, and eventually he falls into asleep, head tucked into Louis’ neck. Louis watches the shadows and counts fucking sheep. It doesn’t work, and his eyes are gritty with tiredness when Paul comes to collect them in the morning for their interviews. 

“Rough night?” Paul asks quietly and Louis tips a shoulder, chugging a bottle of water. 

“Not my best.”

Paul’s hand settles on his neck for a second, a heavy weight that takes a tiny, tiny bit of the tension out of Louis’ body. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and Paul squeezes lightly. “Let’s get this shit done.” 

 

_**did you get the papers?** _

Louis stares at the message, half in disbelief and half in overwhelming, terrifying anger. It’s the first time Nick’s tried to contact him since sending the notice. 

_**my lawyer said he faxed them to your lawyers, so i’m pretty sure you’ve gotten them by now.** _

There’s no apology, no asking how Louis is. Just business. Somehow that stings more than it should. 

_fuck you_ , he sends back before he can talk himself out of it. He means every syllable with every fibre of his being. He’d send it ten times if he could. 

_**louis, don’t do this** _

Louis laughs bitterly, actually laughs, and wonders how much he’ll have to drink to forget four years of a relationship. 

Four years. Christ. 

He throws the glass on the table at the wall, watching in satisfaction as it shatters loudly. He throws the bottle too, and another one. It’s proper diva behaviour this, but he thinks he’s allowed it. Fucking hell, he’s allowed some dramatics. He throws the other glass. 

_i can do whatever the hell i want_

_**you don’t have to be an arsehole about this.** _

He contemplates putting a foot through the television but it’s too much, even for him. He settles for punching a wall. It makes his knuckles ache in a good way, takes away some of the focus from his chest, so he does it once more.

_i’m deleting your number i never want to talk to you again_

It’s a lie and Nick probably knows it, but Louis damn will try to erase it from his phone, from his memory. 

Fucking hell, he’s going to try. 

 

It’s three in the morning; he’s drunk and exhausted and fucking angry. He should feel something else-- remorse maybe-- while he stares at Nick’s neatly printed name, but that’s long gone. There’s nothing but a simmering anger in his belly and dents in the paper where Nick pressed too hard. 

It’s just a cold, spreading numbness, starting from his heart and reaching out towards his fingertips. He leans into it because it’s better than the alternative, better than cracking to pieces. 

And then, because there’s nothing else he can do, he reaches for a pen and signs his name on the divorce papers. 

 


	5. the sea is not my friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is where the timeline gets more wonky, just so you know.

**[the sea is not my friend // nick // 2015]**

 

For the first time in years, Nick wakes up to his alarm feeling sick to his stomach. There’s a knot twisting in his belly that hasn’t gone away, no matter how much he tried to not think about it. But of course he thought about it, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

He’s not sure how he managed to go this long without interviewing One Fucking Direction, but he has, thank _god_. His luck’s run out, though. Today’s the day he interviews Louis, the ex he’s not seen in _years_ and would quite honestly love to never see again. 

Never mind his face is on billboards across the world, and in every magazine, and plastered on the schedule Nick has looked at for the last two weeks, ever since he got that fucking email.

_June 20th - Grimmy Interviews One Direction!_

He’d nearly deleted it, but that definitely would’ve been irresponsible of him. He’s an adult, he can deal with interviewing Louis again. Maybe. 

The knot in his stomach tightens and he just barely makes it into the loo before he’s heaving into the toilet. Nothing much comes up but it tastes awful. He frowns at himself brushing his teeth, categorizing every wrinkle and every line that probably wasn’t there two years ago, that _definitely_ weren’t there six years ago. 

Fucking hell, he met Louis _six_ years ago. That’s fucking insane. Another life, really. 

He teases his hair into a quiff-- as high as it’ll go-- and puts on the fancy moisturizer a beauty company sent him in a package a while ago. He’s ninety-five percent sure it’s for women, but it works wonders and it smells nice, so he’s using it. Who decided smells were for certain genders, anyway?

His phone rings with a warning text; the car’s ten minutes away. He’d gotten caught up in his thoughts and not noticed the time passing and now he has to run around to get ready. Not the nice, calm, process he’d wanted it to be. 

By the time he gets into the car, he’s hyper and almost vibrating from nerves. He still makes the driver stop for a coffee because he doesn’t think he can handle _any_ morning, let alone this one, without caffeine. Plus, it’ll give him something to do with his hands in the worst case scenario. Actually, in the worst case scenario, he can dump it over Louis so Louis has to leave the building to change into non-soaked clothes and miss the interview all together. 

That might be the _best_ scenario, on second thought. He gets the largest coffee possible. 

One Direction isn’t due for two hours yet. It’s still only six in the morning and they’re not on until nine. He’s got time to settle himself, to stop stressing out about seeing his ex-husband who he doesn’t even _like_ anymore. 

Fiona gives him knowing looks but she’s really the only one; most of the interns and staff who knew Louis have moved on to other shows or other careers. He’s glad for it. He’s not sure he could deal with the weight of their pitying glances just right now. Fiona’s is far more than enough, and Harry will be suffocating when he gets in too. 

God, it’s moments like this that makes him wish he never met Louis at all. 

“You alright?” she asks him lowly when they get a quiet moment. 

“Course. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Today’s the day, innit?” 

He shrugs and adjusts one of the knobs on the console. “Just a normal day, Fifi. I’m just doing my job.” 

She pats him lightly on the back, soft fingers gentle before slipping away. He doesn’t close his eyes at the touch, but it’s a close thing. 

“Gooooood morning,” he says into the mic when it’s time, keeping his eyes on the sound levels. “It’s a beautiful day today, innit, and even more beautiful because we’ve got One Direction joining us later. Fiona’s proper excited, aren’t you?” 

“Nearly weeing myself,” she answers dryly.

“Lovely. They’ll be on at nine, so you can look forward to that. Should we give them a wake up call?” 

“Could do.” He’s already got the number queued up so he lets it ring over the air, listening and begging every deity he knows that it won’t be Louis answering.

“‘Lo?” a voice filters over the line and Nick sags in his chair a bit. 

“Morning, Harry!” he chirps, hoping he doesn’t sound overexcited. “This is your wake up call so you’re on time. It’d be a proper shame if you were late.” 

“Yeah, but you could’ve let me sleep another hour,” he says around a yawn and Nick laughs. 

“Fiona’s a bit eager.” 

“Oi, it was your idea!” she answers, outraged, and makes a face at him. He makes one back. 

“Details, details. Well, why don’t you go wake up the rest of your band so you’re all properly awake for the interview. See you in a bit, H!” 

“Bye,” Harry drawls out and a click signals he’s hung up. Nick launches into the next link without pausing. He didn’t trip over his words and Tina didn’t give him a strange look, so he’s calling it a win. 

He ducks out a while later for a wee, reading a text Aimee’s sent that’s practically a novel’s length. Something about the party she went to last night or something; he’s a little too tired to get the gist of it properly. 

It’s his fault, he’s not watching where he’s going and he walks straight into another person.

“Ugh, sorry,” he says distractedly as the other person apologizes too. 

“Sorry, mate.” 

It takes a moment for the voice to process. 

“Louis,” Nick replies, trying to not sound as panicked as he feels. Louis wasn’t watching either, and he startles away from his own phone. 

“Nick,” he says dumbly and it’s been so, so long since Nick’s heard him say that. It makes his throat hurt in a weird way. Louis’ face clears after a seconds and settles back into something guarded, something sad. “You should, um. You should watch where you’re going, maybe.” 

“I could say the same thing to you.” 

Louis lifts his chin a bit, defiant. “Yeah, well. I’m the guest, aren’t I?” 

“Unfortunately,” Nick mumbles and Louis’ face falls, just a tiny bit, as guilt pangs in Nick’s chest. “I didn’t mean it-- I didn’t mean it like that.” 

Louis doesn’t answer, just looks very intently at a sign on the wall. He shrugs a shoulder. “You don’t have to apologize. I tried to ask if I could stay home but they wouldn’t, erm, let me. Said we all had to do it now.” 

“Don’t want to start any rumours, right? Now that Zayn’s gone, n’all.” 

“Yeah,” says Louis, wincing a tiny bit. Christ, Nick needs another coffee to stop him from putting his foot in his mouth so much. This doesn’t bode well for the interview. 

“I didn’t mean to say that either.” 

“It’s fine. M’getting used to it, we all are. It’s still just a shock--” 

Nick’s phone interrupts him, pinging with a text from Fiona. She’s wondering where he is and if he’ll make the link. 

“Fuck, I’ve got to go. Um, I’m sorry about… everything. I didn’t mean it,” he repeats and whirls around back to his chair, leaving Louis a bit shell-shocked in the hallway. He’s just in time to make the link, Fiona shooting him half-confused, half-annoyed looks over the computer screen. Ignoring her, he calmly moves through the announcements. 

“And, in only _ten minutes_ we’ve got the incredible One Direction on air with us,” he says as the boys file into the room. They all look tired, especially Harry who drops his head on Liam’s shoulder. “That’s bound to be interesting, so make sure you stay tuned for that. I think we’ve got a caller--” 

It’s a teenage girl who’s very excited about her favourite band being on air, typical but not enough to distract him from the way Louis is fuming in the corner. He hates that he knows Louis well enough still to know when he’s angry. 

“And now, the moment we’ve all been waiting for! Hello, One Direction!” he says into the mic and the boys chorus a hello. “How’ve you all been?” 

“Tired,” Harry answers dryly as Niall tries to stifle a yawn.

“Ah, well. Did you stay up too late? Sinead told me there were some picture of you lot having fun after midnight.” 

They all exchange looks before Liam shrugs. 

“Just celebrating being home, y’know? We’ve been gone for a long time and it’s nice to be back for a while.” 

“Yeah, I can imagine,” Nick says, laughing. “You’re not home for very long, even when you are here.” 

He catches Louis’ eye for a split second, catching the redness just faintly on Louis’ cheeks. Liam’s sitting rather close to him, like a bodyguard almost. It makes something twist unpleasantly in Nick’s stomach. 

“So, boys. Tell me about your new single. It’s off your old album, _Four._ Why are you just releasing it now?” 

“We didn’t have much of a chance to earlier, did we? It’s been a really busy spring, so we decided to give a little bit of a rest before we introduced anything else to the world,” Niall says.

“Give the world a bit of a rest from us for a while,” interjects Harry, a wry smile on his lips. The boys all giggle after him, even Louis who looks a little unsettled still. 

He doesn’t relax all through the interview, but Nick thinks he might be the only one to notice. Still, after all these years, he knows Louis too well.

Fiona’s foot connects with his leg, making him jerk, and he realises he’s been staring off into space during the link, staring in Louis’ empty chair. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, rubbing his shin and giving Fiona a look. “Tired.” 

No one’s paying much attention; Harry’s chatting with a couple of interns, Niall and Liam are talking quietly with each other, and Louis’ disappeared. Fiona arches an eyebrow. 

“You alright, hun?” 

“How long do we have left of this interview?” he asks instead, rubbing at his eyes. Fiona puts her hand on his shoulder and strokes her thumb along the seam of his shirt. She’s the only one in here that knows about all the history between him and Louis, she’s the only one that was there for the fallout. 

It’s strange, that someone who was such a big fixture in his life can be reduced to a few papers and a lot of empty places in his home. 

“Ten more minutes. Then it’s back to usual business for an hour.” She doesn’t say _and then you can go home_ but it hangs there at the end of the sentence like the elephant in the room neither of them want to discuss. 

He nods and glances down at his notes. He doesn’t really need them; he’s close enough friends with Harry and remembers enough about the band that he could probably just wing it, but it gives him something to do. Somewhere to focus on, instead of Louis coming back into the room and sitting across the table from him. 

“One minute,” Fiona calls out, bringing everyone back to their right places. Harry bounds in, giving him a quick hug before he drops in his chair. Nick rolls his eyes and smiles at him. Harry grins back. 

“Did you get some coffee, Harold?” 

“Only a bit,” Harry says cheerfully, shaking out his hair. 

“I can tell,” Louis mumbles and leans over to smirk at Harry’s pout. And, just for a second, it feels like three years ago again, the three of them sitting around the dinner table and taking the piss out of each other. Nick swallows hard and looks away from Louis’ fond smile, turning back to the soundboard instead. 

Liam and Niall finish up their conversation as the timer reaches five seconds, slotting back into place with an ease that only comes from practice. Nick shakes his head as he unmutes the mics, but he’s cut it close far too many times to make any comment.

Too many long seconds later, the boys sound off their goodbyes and slink out of the studio. Harry sticks around to talk to people still, but the other three disappear rather quickly. 

“I’m going for a coffee,” he says to the room in general and then escapes to the kitchen. It’s nearly empty, except for-- “Louis!”

Louis whirls around and nearly drops his mug. “Nick. Um, sorry, I was just. Making some tea for the road?” 

“No, erm. That’s alright. Go ahead, make tea. I was just going to make myself some coffee. I’ve had a large one, but it hasn’t really sunk in well enough, so I’m getting another one.” He knows that he’s rambling but he can’t quite seem to get himself to stop. Louis just watches with a shadow of an amused look on his face, hands wrapped securely around his mug. “My need for caffeine’s only gotten worse with the early mornings, honestly. I should probably stop.” 

“Nicholas,” Louis says gently, and he’s not been called that in a long, long time. “The, um. The show was really good today.” 

“Thanks. You weren’t so bad yourself.” 

“Didn’t even try to mess with any buttons,” says Louis, a slight smile on his lips. In another life, Nick would’ve kissed him. “I deserve an award, probably.” 

“I can see if Fifi can print one,” Nick tells him, a little weakly. Louis nods, looking down at his shoes. There’s a weird look on his face, his eyebrows all furrowed like he’s thinking. Nick waits, wondering if he can leave or it’d be rude. 

“Why’d you do it?” Louis says and it’s nearly inaudible, nearly knocks Nick off his feet. 

His stomach twists painfully. “I told you, didn’t I? Wrote it on a letter and put it in the envelope.” He’s a fucking coward, but it’s the only thing he can think to say, now that it’s too late. 

Louis lets out a breath, face pulled into something sad. “Yeah. You did. I didn’t leave, though.” 

Nick just shrugs. There’s not a way to explain it all, explain how he saw Louis spinning away long before he sent those fucking papers in a neatly sealed envelope. He just… hurried along the process. “Didn’t you?” 

Louis inclines his head and sets his cup very carefully on the counter. 

“Um, I’ve got to go. They’re probably waiting, but I’ll see you around.” 

It’s not a question; they don’t run in the same circles, not really. Nick still nods like it’s possible and waves an unsteady goodbye. Louis looks like he’s waiting for something, but Nick’s got no clue what, so he just moves past him towards the door. 

“Lou,” Nick calls, right as he crosses the threshold. He’s not sure why, except for a desperate, desperate need not to let it end like this. Not when it ended so badly last time.

“I… Call me when you’re home for good.” 

Louis looks at him for a very long moment and it feels like his eyes are evaluating every inch of Nick’s skin. Nick refuses to shift, though, just stands and waits. 

“Okay,” breathes Louis before stepping out of the door and out of Nick’s sight. He takes all the air out of the room with him and Nick slumps against the counter, massaging his lungs with one hand. His puffpuff’s in the other room, but he doesn’t think it’ll be much use. He just stares at the door and wonders if he made a mistake. 

 

“Aimee, what should I wear?” Nick yells from inside his closet. Half the contents are already strewn about his bedroom floor, discarded in search of something better.

“I told you already. Black trousers, nice shirt,” Aimee yells back. She’s got Pig in her lap and does not seem concerned 

“That’s like telling me to wear pants,” he mutters as he unearths a button up he doesn’t remember ever owning. “It’s a nice event, of _course_ I’m going to wear trousers and a nice shirt. What about this?” 

She wrinkles her nose. “Could do. Not my favourite on you, though. I’d pick a darker blue over a cerulean.”

“Christ, I don’t remember buying this? It’s from Topman.” 

“Topman’s great, remember? You’re their latest designer.” 

“Fair enough. Still don’t want to wear that,” he says and tosses the shirt among the others, disappearing back into the closet. There’s a nice black and white floral shirt that would look good under his jacket. Shaking it out, he evaluates it for a moment. “What about this one?” 

Aimee doesn’t answer so he pokes his head back into the room. She’s holding the already-discarded shirt in her hands and frowning at the label, lost in thought.

“Aims?” he says gently and she starts. 

“Oh, sorry. I was, um, distracted.” 

“What’s so interesting about that shirt? Thought we decided it was a no.” 

“Nothing in particular. It’s just a small and that’s weird, is all.” 

“Are you saying I’m not a small?” he teases, going to sit on the bed. Aimee snorts and pets Pig’s ear.

“You’re too tall to be a small, love. You’d show off your belly button all the time wearing a small in dress shirts. Speaking of, let me see that.” He holds it up for her perusal. It takes a moment but then she nods. “There you, that’s the one. Perfect.”

“Good,” he says, flopping back. “God, getting ready is exhausting. How do you do it all the time?” 

“It’s all part of life, darling,” she answers, a bit distracted. She’s squinting at her phone. “You’re going to have so much fun cleaning all this up.” 

He lifts his head to look around the room. There are clothes covering nearly every surface, piled on the floor. 

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” he mumbles and shudders at the thought. “Do you think waiting—“ 

“Oh my _god,”_ she nearly shrieks, still staring at her phone. He jumps and whips his head around to frown at her.

“What’s going on?”

“Oh my god.” 

“Aimee?” She just turns the screen around so he can look at it. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but when they do, it’s like the ground falls out from under his feet. “Louis is having a baby,” Aimee says disbelievingly. “Your ex is going to be a _father._ ”

“Celebrities have babies all the time, Aims. People lie.” It sounds pretty weak, even to his own ears. 

“This looks pretty legit, Nick,” she mutters. “Funny it’s him, he doesn’t seem like the type to shag around much, but it doesn’t say she’s his girlfriend.” 

“Aimee,” Nick says in a slightly strangled voice. He clears his throat and tries again. “I don’t understand what this has to do with me.” It doesn’t feel like it’s him shaping the words. “I’m not— Louis can live his own life.” 

“Yeah, but he was—“ 

“He was, but he’s not anymore. So it doesn’t really matter. It never did. I don’t fucking care if Louis is going to be a fucking father and I don’t care about anything he fucking does and I don’t understand why I have to keep fucking hearing about him. We were stupid and I married him because I was an idiot but I’m done with that part of my life, thank God, so can everyone just fucking let me be.”

Aimee’s quiet for a few seconds and Nick can feel her disappointment radiating through the line. Squeezing his eyes shut, he waits for a tirade. It never comes. 

“You’re right,” is all she says. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” he mutters and fidgets with a shirt that’s next to his arm, smoothing out the collar and thumbing at a stain. “Listen, I’ve got to get ready. Are you willing to help me?” 

“Of course.” 

 

Simon’s X-Factor party is loud and crowded, but in a refined way. Nick takes it all in with an odd sort of detachment, hollow from the news. Still, he tries to act as normal as possible, bouncing from person to person and being as charming as he can. It works, he thinks, and no one gives him any strange looks during the whole thing, thank _God._

The party’s about a thousand times more bearable with Rita as his date. They trade a running commentary about the guests in attendance, softly so they won’t get any dirty looks. Cheryl laughs at them over a champagne glass and rolls her eyes when Rita blows her a cheeky kiss. 

“Don’t make that face, you know you love us,” Nick says and hooks her arm through Cheryl’s. 

“You’re terrors, both of you,” Cheryl tells her, patting him fondly on the arm. “Can’t believe Simon hired two ridiculous children to be on the panel with us.” 

“We’re the same age, darling,” Nick says, patting her back. “Rita’s the child.” 

“You’ve got a child’s heart, Grimmy.” He can’t really argue with that one, so he just sticks out his tongue. Cheryl copies him until they all dissolve into a bunch of giggles like the proper professionals they are. 

“Oh, what is he doing here?” Rita says, a bit surprised, cutting off her laughter. Nick cranes his head around until he catches sight of Louis fucking Tomlinson, of all people, dressed in a nice suit. 

“Fuck,” he says under his breath, balling up his hands so they don’t shake. 

“Simon invited him,” says Cheryl, shrugging. “I think he’s taking Louis as sort of an apprentice or something, but I dunno.” 

“Strange,” Rita says and Nick drowns his glass. 

“Scuse me,” he mutters. “I’m going to go get another one. The pair wave him off with barely a look, already involved in some other topic of conversation. 

Louis is at a deserted part of the bar, tapping his fingers on the tabletop as he waits for a drink. He doesn’t startle when Nick comes up, just looks at him with an odd sort of trepidation. 

“Were you even going to give me any warning?” Nick asks in lieu of a greeting. 

“Thought about it,” says Louis. 

“You can’t just fucking go off and have a fucking baby without giving me _at least_ a bit of advance notice, Louis. Fuck.” 

Louis lets out a hiss and checks behind him to see if anyone’s paying attention. 

“God, Nick. Why don’t you just announce it to the entire fucking world.” 

“The Daily Mail’s already done that, dickhead.” 

A muscle in Louis’ jaw works and he nods his head once. “Right.” 

“You didn’t tell me.”

“It wasn’t your right to know, Grimshaw. I didn’t have to.” 

“A little warning that you knocked up some girl would’ve been nice.”

“It’s none of your fucking business.” 

Nick shakes his head, unwilling to fight in a room of his coworkers. Louis is quiet too, heaving breaths through his nose like he just ran a marathon or something. Once, an argument like this would’ve ended with them kissing, biting, fucking, but Nick’s too angry, too bitter to do anything but glare. 

Plus the part where they’re divorced and Louis is a dickhead and Nick sort of hates him, no matter what Aimee says. He hates that Louis went off and had a life without him. 

“Christ,” he says instead of all that, and the words nearly choke him. “You’re going to be a father.” 

“How do you think I feel about it? I’m bricking it, mate, like proper shitting terrified. I’ve got to be a dad to this baby and the whole fucking world knows about it.” 

“That’s generally what happens when you have a baby, Louis.” 

“Not like this. You know that kid’s gonna go through hell because he’s my child,” Louis tells him, pinching the bridge of his nose. Nick almost feels sorry for him. “Why the fuck did you come over here?”

He doesn’t say _because I loved you once_ and _because you were my husband._ That time is done, over. Those feelings have no place here. 

“Drunk, I guess,” he mutters and Louis seems to accept the lie. “Sorry, I got, uh. Angry.” 

“Whatever,” Louis says as a bartender brings deposits a glass in front of him. “Nice seeing you again.” 

Nick watches him walk away and the sight finally feels like the closure he’s been waiting years to find. Even so, it’s the worst feeling in the world. 

 

“And, in other news, Louis Tomlinson is going to be a father! That’s right, this boybander is having a Mini-Tommo, according to--” 

Nick tunes out Sinead’s voice for a minute, debating whether he could get away with laying his head on the desk. His head hurts. Taking the chance, he presses his forehead to the cool wood and closes his eyes. Sinead’s still talking but he doesn’t listen, focusing on his breathing like his therapist and yoga instructor and every bloody person on the planet keeps telling him to do. 

A mug is set down on the desk beside him and he turns his head to look at it for a second. It’s Tina, with a concerned look on her face.

“You alright, hun?” 

Nick nods, sitting up and stretching. “Long night. Early morning,” he says around a yawn. Tina nudges the cup closer. 

“Brought you some coffee. You look quite down this morning, like more than usual.” He shrugs as he wraps his hand around the coffee, enjoying the warmth for a moment. “I’m worried about you, Grim. What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong. I just had a late night and didn’t get my beauty sleep. I need the full eight hours, you know, otherwise I fall apart. Reckon this cappuccino counts as one hour?” 

“Macchiato,” Tina corrects, reaching out to fix a strand of his hair that’s fallen out of place. It’s a very motherly gesture and he nearly leans into the comfort. “I got it from the machine, but it’s half-decent. And I think it’s at least three quarters of an hour, maybe more.” 

“Perfect. That brings me up to… six hours? Yeah, six hours of sleep if you count the coffee.” 

She glances at the empty Starbucks cup on the desk. “Oh, hun.” 

Waving a hand, he takes another sip of his surprisingly good coffee-- he can never get the machine to make anything even halfway palatable-- and gives her his best smile.

“Got a gig and it went later than I expected. Don’t worry, I’ll take a nap as soon as I get home.” 

“Curl up with Pig and sleep for an hour, yeah?” 

“Mmm, yeah. Sounds perfect.” 

She smooths down another piece of hair just as Sinead finishes and they’re both due in the booth. It feels nice, loving, and he makes a face at her instead of closing his eyes. 

“You’re mothering me,” he says and she laughs. 

“You need some mothering sometimes.” 

“Yeah, but not from someone barely older than me. Leave that to the old ladies, like Fiona.” 

“Oi,” Fiona says as she walks by, pointing a finger at him. “Watch it. And you’re about to be late if you don’t get your arse in here.”

“Scary,” he comments, standing up and grinning after her. 

Naturally, the first question after the link is about Louis. 

“What do you think about that, Grimmy? Having a baby so young, and so unexpectedly. Do you think there’s something strange going on?” 

“Um,” he says, fiddling with one of the sliders. He’s keenly aware of the millions, literally millions, of people listening in. “Don’t know. Like you said, he’s a boybander and he’s quite young, so. Maybe he forgot to use protection?” He’s really not sure if he’s allowed to say that on radio, but the way Fiona’s biting her lip tells him he probably shouldn’t be speaking. “We’ll send him some from us, maybe, just so he can be safe.” 

Tina and Sinead snigger, but Fiona’s got a sad look on as she tries to steer the conversation back onto safer topics. Nick joins it, the words coming almost automatically now. 

He’s left his coffee in the other room and it’s probably going cold; the thought makes him sadder than it should. Maybe he could convince Tina to finagle another one out of the machine. His fingers tremble the slightest bit on the buttons and he’s quite glad the cameras are off on this particular day. 

“Louis is having a baby?” Fiona asks quietly, when they’ve signed off and are walking to the carpark.

“It appears so, yeah.” 

“How-- What-- Grim--” 

Nick shrugs and tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans, watching his feet for any loose rocks. 

“I don’t know anything, nothing more than you do. Promise.” 

“Are you alright?” 

He gives her a small smile, knocks his shoulder into hers. “Course I am. I don’t have any reason to not be, despite what everyone else thinks.” 

“Everyone else?” 

“Tina was worried,” he tells her, kicking a pebble across the way. “I had a late night and apparently it shows. Oh, to be twenty years old again.” 

“It showed then, just in a different way,” Fiona points out. “Smeared makeup and messy hair, rumpled clothes. Thank _God_ I’ll never have to walk through uni again in yesterday’s clothes. That was mortifying.” 

“I got halfway home before I realised I’d left my pants at his. Only, I’d also forgotten his number and flat location, so I just decided not to bother.” 

“Oh, Christ. Did you ever get them back?” 

“Washed, dried, and folded. The bloke was a bit of a nutter, I found out.” 

“That’s dead weird,” she says, pushing up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Well then, this is me. I’ll see you tomorrow, get home safe.” 

“You do too, Fifi. Have a nice day!” he says as his phone chimes with a text from Harry, asking if he wants to go to lunch. Nick calls instead, too lazy to bother typing things out. 

“Hiya, Harry. Are you hungry?” 

“Starving,” Harry drawls over the line and just the sound of his voice makes Nick smile. “My juice this morning was _foul,_ I could barely drink it.” 

Nick rolls his eyes, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “Poor you. Your green juice wasn’t perfect and you didn’t get breakfast.” 

“Grimmy,” whines Harry. “Don’t make fun, I truly am hungry. Hold on--” 

There’s a weird shuffling sound before a bang on the window that makes Nick jump straight up in his seat. 

“You wanker,” he says as soon as his window’s rolled down to Harry’s smiling face. “Couldn’t you have given me some warning?” 

“There’s no fun in that,” says Harry, sliding in the front seat. 

“Where’d you even come from, anyway?” Nick asks and starts the car. 

“Paddy dropped me off.” Harry points at a van idling in a corner. If Nick didn’t know any better, he’d be incredibly suspicious and a little terrified. But it’s just Paddy, who gives them a thumbs up as they drive by. “I figured you’d be easier to convince in person.” 

“I curse the day we met, Harry,” Nick says solemnly. 

“A dark day indeed. How do you feel about Thai?” 

It’s only later, when Nick’s pleasantly full and a little floaty from the beer, that Harry’s face goes lined with concern. 

“Nick,” he says carefully and suddenly Nick knows what’s coming. It’s a little more bearable now, when he doesn’t have a splitting headache and he knows Harry won’t chatter. He might talk to Louis, though, which is a horrifying thought.

“Oh, Christ. Not you too,” he says, rubbing absently at his arm, right where the stupid-as-fuck triangle tattoo is. Sometimes, he thinks about just scratching the bloody thing off, along with every memory of Louis embedded in his skin.

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“You’re here to make sure I’m not going to confront him at anymore parties because he got some girl pregnant. Really, I’m fine. Absolutely fine and I resent everyone asking me if I’m unwell because my ex is dumb and I’m even dumber for marrying a celebrity.” 

“You didn’t know he was going to be a celebrity when you married him,” Harry points out and Nick sighs. 

“Yes, there is that.” 

“And-- wait, what about confrontation?” 

“Oh,” Nick says, glancing down at his lap and toying with his napkin. “I, uh. Might’ve gotten carried away last night when I heard.”

“Yeah?” 

“I didn’t know he was going to be at Simon’s party.” 

“Yeah, well. He’s become really chummy with him,” says Harry absently. “What did he say when you talked?” 

“We fought, mostly. Of course we did, that’s all we do. I might not have been sober, if we’re being honest with each other. But it’s all good now, we talked it out. Fought it out.” 

Harry looks unsure, chewing on a piece of gum in his slow, methodical way. “Mhm.”

“We did, I swear it.” 

“You’re a bad liar, Grim.” 

“I’m not lying, Harold.” 

Harry’s mouth twitches at the nickname and he leans back in his chair. “Fine, I’ll believe you. For now.” 

“Thank you. I know you don’t agree with our choices--” 

“I think you’re both incredibly stupid and stubborn, yes,” he interrupts. Nick gives him a glare and holds up a finger. 

“--but it’s been two years and we’re both incredibly over it. If you don’t believe us, it’s your fault.” 

“If you say so, Nick,” Harry says, cocking his head to the side. “But I know you and I know that you’re miserable, and he is too.”

The stone of guilt that settled in Nick’s stomach two and a half years ago, and never really left, twinges at that. It’s his fault, after all. All of this is his fucking fault, back when he asked fucking Louis to marry him in a fit of stupidity. And now he’s gone and fucked Louis up as well as himself, although Louis seems to be pulling his own weight recently. God. 

“I’m fine,” he tells Harry in spite of all that’s whirring in his head. “I promise I’m fine. I’d tell you if I wasn’t.” 

Harry looks at him for a moment, thinking. It makes Nick squirm in his seat a bit. “No, you wouldn’t, but I’ll trust you this time.” 

“So gracious.” 

“That’s because I’m your best friend,” Harry says, kicking his feet under the table before breaking out into a grin. “And because I’m your best friend, you’re going to pay for our lunch.” 

Nick groans, grumbling about useless popstars and their millions as Harry smiles smugly. “You’re going to eat me out of house and home, Styles.” 

“Eh, I’ll buy you a new one,” Harry replies with a wave of his hand. “Thanks for the meal.” 

“Thanks yourself, you idiot.” 

Harry laughs, but it dulls when he checks the time. “Oh, shit. I’ve got to go, band stuff. It’s been lovely to have lunch, we should do it again sometime. Love you, send my love to Pig!” 

And then, as quickly as he appeared, Harry Styles is gone, whisked away to the next thing. Nick watches him go for a second, chin propped on his hands, before he sighs to himself and stands. His dog’s at home and he’s deserves to curl up on the couch to take a nap, deserves to forget about the shitty night and semi-shitty day for an hour. 

When he sleeps, he dreams of doors and bellies and babies with Louis’ blue eyes staring straight at him. 

 

Doing telly is nothing like doing the radio. For one, he’s got to control both his voice _and_ his facial expressions, which he thinks is pretty shit, about as shit as the singers currently butchering a Rihanna song onstage. 

Next to him, Rita’s nearly in tears from trying not to laugh so obviously. He’s pretty sure he’s going to pop a blood vessel. The duo onstage are woefully unconscious of their hilarity, strutting around on stage like they don’t sound like dying cats. 

“Well,” Simon says when the duo are done. “That was certainly something.” Nick presses his lips together and shakes his head, still laughing. “Thank you for your time.” 

The audience laughs them off stage, and the producers signal a break. Rita leans back in her chair and grins at him. 

“Were you expecting this when they called you up, Grimmy?” 

“Little bit, yeah. You?” 

“Oh, absolutely. It’s why I took the job, if we’re being honest.”

“All about the drama, aren’t you?” he teases, laughing. Rita shrugs a shoulder and nods. “I knew it.” 

“And you came for the cute boys, we all know that.” 

“No!” protests Nick. “I came cause I like music.” 

“Hmm, I saw you eyeing one of the performers. You’ve got a type, don’t you?” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Rita rolls her eyes and twists open a water bottle, handing one to him as well. He drinks half of it in one go and swipes at his mouth, wincing when he remembers the layers of makeup he’s got on. 

“Have you any ideas for a guest judge yet?” she asks offhandedly, rubbing a bit at her lipstick. “I was thinking maybe someone American.” 

“Thought about asking Harry, but I don’t know if he could fit it into his busy schedule, y’know?” 

“That would be good but I don’t know if they’d let two members of One Direction be judges. That seems unfair, a bit.” 

“What?” he says, swinging his head around to stare at her. “ _Two_ members?” 

“Yeah, apparently Simon’s going to bring Louis Tomlinson in. He said Louis was perfect because of his experience and head for business,” she tells him as makeup approaches the chairs, armed with their brushes.

“That’s, uh. That’s something,” he mumbles. It’s true, he’s a perfect guest judge, or real judge even. He’s got invaluable experience. Nick’s stomach twists in the all-too familiar way it does when he thinks about Louis. 

It’s happened a lot recently, here on the _X-Factor._ Nick can’t help but think of Louis, still a teenager and just barely married, going through this whole process by himself. A flicker of anger goes through him like a spark. Fuck, their whole relationship was awful from the start. 

“Could do Adele,” he says after far too long. Rita glances at him out of the corners of her eyes. 

“What?” 

“Adele, if she’s not busy. Or Mark Ronson, maybe.” 

“All good ideas. We’ve got some time to figure it out, Grim.” 

Simon and Cheryl reappear, looking flawless and intimidating, and settle back into their seats. It’s time for another round of contestants, but Nick’s off-balance, can’t quite seem to concentrate. For the sake of the audience, he gives it his best, but Rita notices about halfway through. 

“You alright?” she whispers, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze. He squeezes back. 

“Yeah, fine. Just tired. It’s been a long week. Some of us aren’t able to sleep in on weekdays, we have to go do actual jobs.” 

“Shhh,” she tells him, giggling. “You’re making me miss this performance.” 

He makes a face at her, just briefly, and turns back to the stage, putting all thoughts of anything but the contestants out of his head. It almost works. 

 

His phone is ringing. Nick has a strict _no phone calls on Sunday morning_ policy because Sunday mornings are _his_ time. All of his friends know and respect that, and he’s not quite sure who would be waking him up at fuck-o-clock in the morning. Groaning, he shoves his head into the pillows and waits for it to ring out. 

It shuts off, thankfully, and he sighs in relief until it starts back up again. 

“Christ,” he mutters, sitting up and scrabbling for his phone. It stops ringing as soon as he gets his hands on it and he squints at the screen. There’s several missed calls from an unknown number, and a text message. “The fuck?” 

“I guess that’s that,” he mutters, tossing it back down and burying his face in his pillow. He’s only just closed his eyes when it pings with a text message. “The fuck.” 

_pick up your fucking phone, it’s important_

Still no name, still no idea who it is. The next time it rings, he answers carefully. 

“Hello?” 

“Oh, fucking _finally._ Why the fuck does it take you forever to answer?” 

“Louis?” he says dumbly. There’s no way it can be Louis, not in the year two thousand and fifteen. 

“Who else would it be?” 

Nick sits up in bed and drags a hand down his face, scrubbing at his eyes. It’s far too early and too sudden to be dealing with this when he’s only just woken up.

“Literally anyone else, if we’re being honest.” He can _hear_ Louis rolling his eyes on the other end of the line. “What’s wrong?” 

Louis goes quiet on the other side of the line, and Nick knows it’s nothing good. It feels like the air just before a storm, when everyone and everything is anticipating that first loud clap of thunder but it hasn’t gone yet. “Louis?” 

“They found our divorce papers,” Louis says quickly, clearing his throat afterwards. “The media did. It’s breaking in about, oh, two hours.”

“What?” He hates how weak his voice sounds, but all his energy is focused on not panicking. 

“The media found our divorce papers and they’re going to publish them in a few hours. I’m sorry, we tried everything but we found out too late.” 

“Oh, Christ. Christ,” Nick repeats, running a hand over his face. “They know we were married? How the fuck could that happen? What the fuck, Louis?” 

“I don’t know,” Louis snaps back, sounding angry and tired and sad. “I don’t know how they did it, I thought I had those sealed or summat, but they’ve been found and I’ve been outed. God, everyone’s gonna know about us.” His voice breaks on the last word. Nick doesn’t know whether to be angry at him, or heartbroken. 

“What do I do? What do I tell them?” 

“Nothing for now, not until we can figure it out. My PR person’s working overtime.” He lets out a ragged laugh that’s more hysterical than anything. “I just-- I wanted to give you a warning before everything goes to shit and you have papa-fucking-razzi following your every move. Don’t post anything on social media, lay low until I say so.” 

‘Is there anything we can do to stop it? Call a lawyer or summat? You’ve got plenty of those.” 

“Don’t you think we’ve tried that,” Louis says, a little viciously. “And _you’re_ the one who knows all the best, if I remember right. Got really acquainted with _them_.” 

“Louis--” he starts, but he’s a bit at a loss what to say. Louis lets out a sigh that sounds like it was wrenched from his toes. 

“Sorry. I shouldn’t… there’s other things we need to focus on.” 

“Like the fact our divorce is going public.” 

“Yeah. Like that.”

Nick swings his legs over the side of the bed and shuffling towards the kitchen. Might as well get coffee going if he’s already awake, and it’ll give his hands something to do. 

“Do you know what story they’re running with? Is it going to be framed in a good way, or…” 

Louis laughs again, bitter. “It’s the Daily Mail. I don’t think they’re going to be very accommodating.” 

“Well, fuck,” Nick mumbles, staring at the coffee pot and watching it fill up drop by drop. “We’re well and truly fucked then, aren’t we?”

“Exceptionally.” 

Nick’s hands are shaking. He clenches the one that’s not holding his phone into a fist, nails biting into his palms. The pain is nice, grounding. He focuses on that instead of the panic clogging the back of his throat. 

“How do you have my number, anyway?” 

“We were married, Nicholas.”

The name settles him as much as it feels like it’s ripping him in two. God, he hates everything about this. 

“Yeah, but you told me you deleted it,” Nick says. 

There’s a moment of awkward silence before Louis grits out an answer. “Nicked it off of Harry’s phone, didn’t I.”

“Oh. That’s, uh. Clever.” 

“I didn’t want you to find out through the headlines. Not again.” 

“First time I’ve known about anything you do before the world does,” he quips. It comes out harsher than he meant. “Christ, two scandals in a month.” 

“The baby’s not a scandal,” Louis says sharply. “Neither are you, for that matter.” 

“Just the fact that I’m a man.” 

Louis sighs again. Nick can picture him, sitting on their old sofa and running a hand through his hair. His heart aches at the image. 

“That’s… less than ideal, I guess.” 

It hurts. It shouldn’t, but it does.

“Well, thank you for calling me,” Nick says brusquely, reaching for a cup. His coffee’s been done for a while and he pours it out into a cup. “I appreciate the warning. Erm, keep me updated if anything changes.” 

“I will,” Louis tells him, voice softer than Nick’s heard in a long while. “Stay away from the news today. It’s not going to be very pretty.” 

“Noted. Bye, then.” 

“Bye,” says Louis and Nick moves to hang up. “Wait, Nicholas--” 

“Yeah?” 

“I just. That thing you said, about calling you when I got home. Did you mean it?” 

Nick swallows and rubs at his face for a moment, heart beating so incredibly fast. “Suppose I did.” 

“What if--” Louis hesitates. “What if I don’t know where that is anymore?” 

Nick’s quiet for a moment, nudging his cup on the kitchen counter so it’s farther away from the edge, just for something to do. Everything in him hurts like he ran a marathon, hurts like it’ll never go away again. A desperate sort of want creeps up his body but he doesn’t even know what he _wants_ so desperately.

“Well, then. Call me when you find out.” 

“Okay,” Louis says, almost inaudibly, and the line goes dead. 

 

There’s so much he needs to do, some many people he should be calling, but he can’t quite make himself dial the numbers. He sits on the floor of his kitchen instead, fighting a panic attack and not quite winning. It seems like every conversation he’s had with Louis lately has led to this. He just wants it to _stop._

God, the _whole world_ is going to find out about him and Louis. The whole world is going to find out about the worst mistake he’d ever made. He’s just not sure if that was loving Louis or letting him leave. Half of his friends don’t even know about them. His publicist doesn’t know. Hardly anyone knows, and they’re all going to find out in a few hours. 

When the tears start, he can’t make them stop. They just keep coming over and over again, flowing until he’s a snotty, horrible mess. He doesn’t know why he’s sobbing, but he can’t stop. He cries until it makes his stomach hurt. Dragging the rubbish bin over, he sicks up once, and then again. 

It’s not his proudest moment, here on the ground with his face all swollen and the taste of vomit still in his mouth. It’s still better than the night he sent the papers out, though. He’s not hollow and terrified and so desperately guilty, just panicked. Nothing could be as bad as that night.

Pig wanders into the room, noses curiously at his leg and then at his face. She starts licking at the tears and it’s enough to make him laugh, just a bit. Just enough to get a handle on himself.

“What a mess we’re in, Pig-dog,” he mumbles as he staggers to the bathroom to wash his teeth, legs all numb from so long on the floor. 

He’s got an hour until the news is set to release, at least from Louis’ estimation. He calls up his publicist-- apologizing profusely for bothering her on a Sunday morning-- and spends thirty minutes of that hour going over everything from their marriage to how he thinks Louis will respond. He gets a telling-off for all of this and she swears Louis out quite vehemently, which is amusing at least. 

“Fine,” she bites out, sounding like she’s rubbing her temples. “We’ll figure this out, I guess. Fuck, I’m going to have words with his fucking publicist and also with you for keeping this from me.” 

“Not _intentionally._ ” He just didn’t like talking about it.

“Yeah, but I still needed to know about it.” 

“I’m sorry, Liz.” 

She softens a bit, sighing. “It’s fine. Nothing we can do now, except pray this mess blows over. It won’t, though, because it’s fucking _Louis Tomlinson_. Of all the celebrities, I _swear to God._ Even Harry would’ve been better.” 

“Haven’t had a Twitter feud with him.” 

“That makes so much more sense, and the slagging off on the radio. Christ, I should’ve realised ages earlier. But, again. Nothing more we can do. Keep your head down today, keep a low profile.” 

“I have work tomorrow, and the taping on Tuesday.” 

“We’ll figure that out tonight, when we know just how big this is supposed to be. Ciao, Grimmy,” she says and hangs up before he can return the goodbye. He turns it off completely, and stares at the mirror for a few seconds. There are already huge bags under his eyes, probably more wrinkles settling into his skin. 

“I hate him,” he says to his reflection. It’s not convincing, not even to himself. Turning away, he reaches for the bath and flicks it on. He deserves a nice soak, deserves to enjoy the last moments of peace before all hell breaks loose. 

 

He’s drinking his third cup of coffee when the doorbell goes. Glancing at the clock, he realises the news has been out for two hours already, plenty of time for someone to have read the news. Bracing himself, he swings open the door. 

“Mairead,” he says and she looks up at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Read the news,” she says sadly, bouncing a sleeping Arlo on her hip. He steps aside so they can get in the door. 

“Oh. I haven’t. Is it bad?” 

“There are paps all outside your building. I practically had to fight to get in here.” 

“That bad, then,” he says quietly and she sighs, setting Arlo down on the sofa. 

“Louis Tomlinson, Nick?” He nods jerkily, jaw clenched. ”I didn’t-- you were _married_ and I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

He flinches, checking the lock on the door instead of looking at her. “I didn’t tell many people. It was-- fuck, it was two years ago and it doesn’t even _matter_ anymore. Well, not until it got splashed on the front of the bloody _Sun.”_

“DailyMail, actually,” she says and he waves a hand. Arlo snuffles in his sleep and Nick wants to pick up him so badly, wants to hug him and forget about everything else for the rest of his life. 

“How bad is it?” he asks quietly again. “I haven’t-- I haven’t even looked at my phone since I found out this morning.” 

“How’d you find out?” 

“Uh. Louis called me.” 

Mairead’s face crumples for a moment, hurt flashing across her face, and then smoothes out. She sighs. “It’s not horrible, not at all. You’re mentioned, but not as much as you would think. Most of the stories are about Louis.” 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck.” 

“Love, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think you probably need to turn your phone on. Everyone’s trying to get ahold of you and see if you’re alright.” 

“S’why I turned it off,” he tells her, but he fetches his phone anyway. Notification after notification pop up as soon as it’s on, flooding the screen until he can hardly swipe to see. It nearly makes him shut the whole thing off again. He ignores all the texts and opens up Google. 

Mairead’s eyes go wide when she realises. “Nick, don’t--” 

“I have to see,” he says as calmly as he can even though there’s another panic hovering at the edges of his mind. “I have to.” 

Like she says, it’s splashed all over the internet. He clicks on the first link he finds, watching as his own face fills the screen, making him flinch. 

_**One Direction Band Member in Secret Gay Relationship With Radio Broadcaster?!** _

This is quite literally his worst nightmare. He stops after the second paragraph. 

“Oh god.” Mairead rubs his back a little, making little soothing noises that she usually makes for Arlo. It’s comforting, even if he does feel like a child. His phone’s still getting notifications. “I should call Liz.” 

“Who?” 

“My publicist,” he says quietly, swiping at his eyes a little. “See what I have to do now that we know what it says. And what everyone else is saying.” 

“Don’t check Twitter,” Mairead warns. Just the thought of his mentions makes him want to be sick again. “For god’s sake, don’t. Or Insta, or Google. Not today, I won’t let you.” 

She looks fierce and protective and Nick has never been so thankful for her. “I won’t. Promise I won’t.” 

“Good,” she says as Arlo starts to stir, moving back over to the sofa so she can scoop the baby up in her arms. Hushing him, she locks eyes with Nick and gives him a small smile. “Do us a cup of tea? And maybe some milk for the wee one?” 

“Course,” he mumbles. His hands are shaking, but he’s not sure if it’s from the caffeine or the stress. Both, probably. Escaping to the kitchen, he puts on the kettle and thumbs to Liz’s contact. 

“Hi, babe,” she says when she answers, sounding exhausted and harried but also excited. She lives off this stuff, Nick knows. It’s just not usually him in the middle of the drama. “It’s a bit of a circus, innit?” 

“Yeah, just a bit.” 

“I’ve seen a lot worse, though, which is good. Most of the outrage is around Louis, because he’s the more famous one-- sorry.” 

“Not offended. There are lots of paps outside my door, though.” 

“Well, that’s to be expected. You made the morning news, Grimmy.” 

“Don’t remind me,” he mutters, rubbing at his eyes with a hand. “What am I doing about work?”

“Well, I talked to your boss—” Nick’s stomach drops.

“Please tell me I didn’t get sacked.” 

“You didn’t get sacked,” she says. “That would be discrimination and I’d have your lawyers on in an instant. I’ve also talked to Jasmine and she says we’re just going to go about as normal. Try your hardest to ignore everything, yeah? Don’t answer any questions, don’t give them anything. When it settles down a bit, you’ll give an interview— maybe to _Heat_ or summat— about your relationship, and we pray it dies down.” 

“God,” says Nick, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t— I don’t _want_ to talk to anyone about this relationship. It was a shitty, fucked up marriage, and I shouldn’t have— I shouldn’t have married him. We were young and stupid, and I fancied myself in love with him and he didn’t know anything better. It was selfish and fucked up and, _god,_ I never should’ve married him.” 

Mairead pokes her head in the door, looking concerned. He waves a hand and tries to compose himself. “It was a mistake and I’m tired of the whole world knowing about it.” 

“I’m so sorry, love,” Liz says gently, soft like she’s trying to coax out a scared animal, “but that’s not a possibility. It’s out, and so are you two now, and you can’t just hide away from it forever.” 

“Fuck. Louis just got outed to the whole world, didn’t he? That’s fucking awful.” 

“At the risk of sounding callous, that’s not your problem to deal with now. It’s for him and his team.” 

“But it’s—” He cuts himself off and shakes his head. “Thank you. For all your help.” 

“Course, Grim. It’s my job, isn’t it? Keep your head down, go to work tomorrow, and don’t stress too much. This’ll all blow over soon. It always does.” 

“Okay. Okay, I can do that.” 

Mairead looks sad as he hangs up the phone, twisting a lock of hair around her finger like she does when she’s nervous. He shrugs and manages a half smile. 

“Your tea’s almost done. Promise. I just got, erm, sidetracked.” 

She sweeps him up into a hug instead of responding, wrapping her arms around him in the way she’s always done, ever since they were young and stupid. Propping his head on hers, he squeezes back and tries not to think about anything. 

 

Most of the paps have gone when he leaves, five in the morning too early for them, but there are still a few with their cameras. He ducks his head and tucks his chin into his collar, ignoring the flashes as he gets into the car. The ride is long and short at the same time, long enough to make him antsy but short enough that he’s still not ready by the time they pull up. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs to the driver and squares his shoulders before he goes in the door. There’s a muted sort of chaos in the offices that stops as soon as people notice he’s there. Everyone freezes, staring at him for a few seconds until he gives a nod. 

“Er… good morning?” And just like that, the spell is lifted and everyone’s on their way again. No one will look him in the eye. 

“Good morning, Nick,” Fiona says, quiet, when he collapses into his chair. 

“Hey, Fifi.”

“How are you doing? Are you alright?” 

He laughs harshly and shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve been a lot better, but thanks for asking. It’s not every day your divorce papers get drudged up and put out on the internet, but I’m doing fine, all things considered.” 

Fiona’s mouth sets into a straight line. “Grimmy…” 

“It’s okay.” 

She gives him a hug, the most recent in a long, long line of them. His friends stopped by all yesterday, every one that could. He’s so, so tired of explaining himself, explaining Louis. He hadn’t gotten much sleep for all the crying and hugging.

“You’re not by yourself, are you?” 

“Colette stayed the night last night, so no.” 

“Oh dear. How’d she handle the news?” 

“With dignity and grace, like everything she does,” he says and Fiona’s mouth twitches up. At least he’s got his humour still intact. “A lot of shouting, a lot of wine. Pretty standard, actually.” 

“Standard,” she echoes before the smile slides off her face. “You know we’re going to have to talk about it, right? Unfortunately, it’s the biggest celebrity news and we’ve got to talk about it.” 

“I know,” he says, even though he’s sort of hoped they’d avoid the topic altogether. “Please don’t make me say anything about it, _please._ ”

“We won’t. Promise. Sinead’ll just mention it.” She hesitates, fingers tightening on his arm. “We love you, Grimmy. All of us, secret ex-husband or not.” 

“You knew about him,” he says, blinking back tears. 

“Yeah, but I still do love you. So does everyone else.” 

“Thanks.” 

She squeezes his arm one last time and then slips a paper across the table at him. “Well, now that that’s out of the way, here’s the schedule for today. Figured you wouldn’t want to do a lot of talking so there are a lot of songs on there.” 

“Thanks,” he says again, studying the list. “You’re wonderful, Fifi. Couldn’t do this without you.” 

“Course you could,” she says softly. Despite it all, he really has some of the best friends in the world. 

 

The paps are back when he gets home, thick as a pack of wolves and twice as vicious. It takes all his willpower not to snap back at them as they yell things or shove a camera in his face. He slams the door behind him and locks it for good measure. 

“Fucking twats have been going at it all day,” Colette growls from her place on the sofa, curled up with Pig. Aimee’s there too, a half-smile on her lips and a glass of wine in her hands. 

“Sorry,” he mutters as he slips off his shoes. 

“Not your fault. Well, it sort of is, but not like that,” she amends and he chuckles as he gives her a kiss on the cheek. Collapsing between them, he nicks a swallow of wine to Aimee’s disdain. 

“Oi, be nice. It was a long day at work.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Very, very long,” he says, closing his eyes. He’s got a tension headache creeping over his head, one that he can tell won’t go away with paracetamol. “Why are you two still here?” 

“Moral support,” Aimee offers, stealing her glass back. “We can’t leave you by yourself to wallow.” 

“Or do something stupid, like tweet out nonsense that only makes it worse,” adds Colette.

“I’ve never done that, ever in my life,” he says, ignoring the way they exchange a glance over his head. Sighing, he gives Pig a scratch on the top of her head. “Does this mean I get to choose what we watch?” 

“No,” they say in unison, making him smile. Colette hooks her arm through his and lays her head on his shoulder.

“I say this with love, but your taste in telly is absolutely _horrendous._ You watch too much trash.” 

“It’s going to rot your brain,” says Aimee and he makes a face at her. 

“Christ, what is this? Making fun of Grimmy day?” 

Aimee snorts, nudging his leg with her foot. “Just doing our duties as your best friends. Oh, by the way, Daisy stopped by. She left you some food and some cookies, as a pick-me-up.” 

“And you didn’t lead with that?” he says, standing up and wandering into the kitchen. There’s a basket on the counter, with a note on the front. 

_Love you xx — Daisy_

He snags a cookie and leaves the rest, flopping back onto the sofa and groaning. “It’s been such a long day and I have to do it all again tomorrow. More, even, with the _X-Factor_ meetings. Oh, god.” 

Colette pets at his hair for a bit, plaiting the strands, undoing them, and then plaiting them back again. 

“Did Simon know already?” Aimee asks. 

“I think Louis told him, back at the beginning. Back when we didn’t know it was going to be like this.” 

“Then you don’t have anything to worry about. They can’t fire you, either, because of laws.” 

“I can be nicely asked to leave,” he points out, tipping his head to look at her. She waves a hand dismissively. 

“They’re not going to do that. Promise they won’t.” 

He groans again and presses his face into the sofa. It smells faintly of cigarette smoke and dog.

“God, I want a cig,” he mutters and Colette’s hands still for a second “I’ve not had one in ages.” 

“I’d wait, if I were you. The paps are out there like fucking vultures and you don’t want to give them anything else today. I tried to go out on your patio and was nearly blinded,” she says disgustedly. 

“Sorry.”

“Again, love. Not your fault.” 

“It is, though. All of it is. I was so fucking _stupid.”_

“Nick, look at me,” Aimee says, prodding at his shoulder until he does. “You had no idea any of this was going to happen, alright? It’s not your fault, it’s not Louis’ fault, it’s not anyone’s except for the dickheads who went searching for a story. Okay?” 

“Okay,” he repeats and she kisses his cheek. 

“Good. Now, I think _Corrie’s_ on, if you want to watch it.”

“Do you not have work?” 

“We’ve got nothing else to do all day, me and Aimee, except stay here with you,” says Colette, shifting so that she’s more comfortable. “That and watch trashy telly, but that’s just for you. I hope you know that.” 

“I do,” he says as Aimee finds the remote and switches it on. They settle in, Pig sleeping in between Colette and Nick, and watch television until the sun goes down and Nick can barely keep his eyes open. For the first time since that fucking phone call, he feels safe and warm, like everything might turn out alright. 

 

It takes him two weeks to call Louis back, two weeks to muster up the courage to actually make his fingers press the button. It rings and rings and rings, so long Nick thinks it won’t go through, but he keeps it clutched to his ear just in case. He’s not sure he can dial again. 

And then, just as he’s about to hang up, there’s a click.

“Hello?” Louis says tiredly. 

“Hey, Louis,” Nick says, a hand in his hair. “I— hi.” 

“Why are you calling me?” 

“Because— oh, is this a bad time? I can call back, if you need me to.”

“No, no, you’re fine. It’s… fine. I just wasn’t expecting it.” He laughs and it’s harsh with static over the line. “Should’ve, though. This week’s been hell for you too.” 

Nick winces. “That bad?” 

“Everyone important is very, very upset with me. I’d be surprised if I wasn’t the next one out of the band because I made everything so fucking difficult.” 

“Are Liam and Niall and Harry upset as well?” 

“Liam and Niall are fine. Harry, I don’t know.”

“He won’t talk to you?” 

Louis laughs again and it’s even more bitter this time, layered with tiredness and frustration and hurt. “Harry hasn’t talked to me properly for _years,_ no thanks to you.” 

“What?” 

“He picked you over me,” Louis says after a moment. “Fuck knows why, since it was all your fault, but he did.”

“I didn’t mean for that to happen. I didn’t mean for any of it to happen,” Nick tells him quietly. “You’ve got a right to be mad at me, but I swear, I was doing what was best.” 

“What was best for _you!_ You didn’t even let me have a say in whether or not I wanted a divorce, you just assumed. Fuck, you did it to save your own skin and because you didn’t trust me, don’t even— don’t even—“ 

“You didn’t trust me either, remember that? You went off and auditioned by yourself, and you hardly told me anything. This isn’t only my fault, Louis. I might’ve sent the papers, but you had a hand it as well.” 

“Yeah, but I wasn’t the one to give up. I kept trying while you just stopped caring, stopped texting me, stopped being my husband _._ As soon as I wasn’t around all the time, you got insecure and wouldn’t trust me.” His voice breaks halfway through and it feels like a knife through Nick’s chest. He closes his eyes against it, but Louis keeps talking. “You gave up, Nicholas, and didn’t look back, and I’ve been left to fix myself for years because of _you._ So, yeah, Harry not speaking to me and this whole fucking mess is a little bit your fault.” 

It’s quiet for a moment, both of them breathing heavily over the line. Nick doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know if there’s anything he can say, so he just waits. 

“I just… why did you call me, Nick?” he asks, and he sounds a lot older than he should. With a start, Nick realises he’s almost the same age Nick was when they got married. The thought unsettles him somehow, makes him feel unsteady, and it takes a moment to bring his thoughts back. 

“I have an interview tomorrow,” Nick tells him. “About us. I, uh, wanted to know if there was anything I couldn’t say.” 

“I don’t care. Say whatever you like, you always do, and I’ll deal with the consequences. Like I always do.” 

Somehow that, more than anything, is the thing that hurts the most. Nick nods before remembering Louis can’t see him. “I’ll be careful. Promise.” 

“Not to be rude, but honestly your promises don’t mean much to me,” Louis says bitterly and then hangs up with no warning. Nick blinks at the table in front of him and tries to breathe right, tries not to fall apart over this stupid boy for the millionth time. 

He almost succeeds. 

 

“So,” the interviewer says, a friendly-looking man in a nice shirt and trousers. He doesn’t seem old enough to be an esteemed reporter, but Liz had gushed about his work when giving Nick the details. “Nick Grimshaw. Tell us all about your marriage.” 

“What do you want to know about it?” says Nick, trying not to twist the tablecloth under his fingers. He doesn’t want to seem nervous, evasive. That won’t do for good press.

“Everything!” 

“Oh, well. It was quite a while ago, nearly three years. We met in a club that I was DJ-ing at, and it just… escalated.” 

“You don’t look like the type to get married so quickly.” 

“No,” Nick says lightly, ignoring the way the interviewer’s eyes sweep over him, taking notice of everything. “I don’t, and I’m not.” 

“But you did get married.”

“Yeah, and then divorced two years later,” Nick replies with a shrug. 

“Why?” 

He gives the easy answer. “Distance. Being married is hard when your husband’s halfway around the world most of the time and you can’t tell anyone.” The word _husband_ feels strange in his mouth, heavy like it’s not supposed to be there. 

“Ah, right. You hardly told anyone you were married, right? Family and a few friends?” 

“Yeah,” says Nick, tracing a pattern onto the tabletop with a finger. “That’s exactly right.” 

“Any particular reason for that?” 

“Well, uh. When we started… dating I wasn’t out yet and we kept it quiet. By the time we got married, it was too late? And then, One Direction happened and it was too late then, too. Bad timing all around.” 

“ _Very_ bad timing,” the interviewer echoes, making a note in his notebook. “The opposite of serendipity, yeah?”

Nick vaguely has an idea what that means, but he agrees anyway. “Yeah.” 

“And now? Any chance anything will happen between you two now that it’s not a secret?” 

“I don’t think so,” Nick says, forcing a laugh. “He’s just announced a baby on the way, yeah? I don’t think that will happen again. He’s got his life and I’ve got mine, and we’re doing just well.” 

“Is that weird, that your ex-husband is going to be a father?” 

Nick jumps at the word _husband_ but laughs a bit, dropping his shoulders. “I think it’d be weird for anyone, yeah. But like I said, we’ve been divorced for a while and we’re both living our lives now.”

“Do you regret any of it?” 

“The timing, I do, yeah. But the rest, um, no. No, I don’t think I regret it at all.” 

It’s all a lie, but the interviewer doesn’t seem to notice. 

Harry’s waiting for him after the interview, in a car with the windows tinted and sunglasses on his nose. 

“How’d it go?” 

“Fucking hate him,” Nick growls, slamming the door and starting the car. Harry tips his head, amused. 

“The interviewer or Louis?” 

“Both.” 

“Ah,” says Harry and glances down at his phone. “That’s understandable.” 

Nick hums his agreement and drives out of the carpark, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of whatever song’s playing on the radio. Nick recognises it in that vague way you do when something’s been playing everywhere, but you don’t particularly care about it. Harry hums along to the chorus absentmindedly, still texting. 

“Louis says you don’t talk anymore.” 

Harry looks up, startled. Nick’s arm itches. “I thought you two didn’t talk anymore.” 

“Called him last night.” 

“Why?” 

“Needed to know if there was anything I wasn’t allowed to say.” 

“Was there?” 

“Nope. He basically told me to say whatever I wanted to say, and that he’d deal with it later.” 

“Well, fuck him too,” Harry says easily and Nick glances at him out of the corner of his eye. Harry catches him looking and sighs, cracking his neck and making Nick wince. “Yeah, we stopped talking a while back.” 

“He said you chose me instead of him.” 

Harry scoffs, low in his throat. “It was a lot more than that. We’re just different people, with different interests now. Plus that fucking _Larry Stylinson_ shit gets difficult to deal with after a while. Got tired of my every action being scrutinized under a microscope for signs of a romance.” 

“That would be frustrating, yeah.” 

“He got mean,” Harry says. “Lashed out at all of us, but mostly at me. I think I reminded him of you too much.” 

“That’s a shitty thing to do.” 

“It is, yeah, but I don’t blame him. Can’t blame him.” 

“Yeah,” Nick replies, staring at the road, guilt coating the back of his throat. He doesn’t apologize, even though he thinks he should. _That’s_ not his fault either. “Are you still getting shit on Twitter?” 

Harry doesn’t protest the change in subject, just thinks for a few seconds. “M’always getting shit on Twitter. You?” 

“Same. But, hopefully, less homophobic comments about how I turned Louis gay.” 

“Nick—“ 

“S’kinda true, innit,” he says blankly, hands white on the wheel. “He was straight before he met me.” 

“Nick Grimshaw, as good as your dick may be, I don’t think it’s _that_ magical. That’s not how it works. Besides, I’m pretty sure he was bisexual before and you just confirmed it.”

“Have you been taking a human sexualities class?” 

Harry laughs, his head lolling against the seat, and twists the volume to the radio. The car fills with an Adele song, one that Harry starts singing along to. Nick sighs before joining in, trying to leave everything that happened during the day behind him. 

 

The world goes by and forgets them, leaves them nearly back where they were. Nick goes back to forgetting he was ever married, forgetting about Louis. When Pixie mentions setting Nick up on a date with one of her friends, he smiles and says, “I’d love to.” 

Sitting at the table, a blond man who’s about as different from his ex as different can be, Nick thinks about Louis hardly at all.

Until, his phone chimes in the middle of the morning, halfway through winter. There’s someone in the shower, the blond man who Nick thinks he might be able to convince to stay for a while. 

Of all people, Nick doesn’t expect it to be _Louis._ The one line steals his breath away, makes his lungs freeze and his hands shake without his permission. Distantly, he hears the shower shut off and he knows he’s only got a few minutes to pull himself together. 

Fuck Louis for having this effect on him, even after years and years. Fuck him for the way he wormed his way into Nick’s life and won’t let go. 

He clicks out of his messages and sets his phone on the nightstand, but the words keep echoing through his head all day, driving him crazy. 

_home is where my husband is._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *1d voice* this is not the end, this is not the end so, uh. stay tuned. i promise there's an actual resolution, but you gotta hold on for a bit. i'm over at @bigbrotherlouis on tumblr if you want to reblog the [ edit](http://bigbrotherlouis.tumblr.com/post/161203057399/if-i-had-a-boat-i-would-sail-to-you-nicklouis) // [ playlist](http://iwasfinebeforeonedirection.tumblr.com/post/161202770071/if-i-had-a-boat-i-would-sail-to-you-by) // or talk to me about anything. love u thank you for reading!!!


	6. interlude: and everyone conspires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long delay. i'm in my last year of university and it's been kicking my ass a little bit, plus i was horribly, horribly writer's blocked for months on end. no fun. 
> 
> thank you justine for reading this part!!
> 
> enjoy xx

**[interlude: and everyone conspires // louis // 2015]**

Accidentally having a secret relationship exposed for all the world to see is shite, complete and utter shite. Having a baby with an ex-girlfriend on top of that is even worse. Louis feels like he's up to his knees in it with no end in sight. He can't go five fucking minutes without someone asking him if he's the father of the baby, if he misses Nick. 

No, he fucking does not miss Nick, doesn't ever want to hear his name ever again. God, he wishes he destroyed all the papers, wishes he remembered that fucking condom, wishes he never went home with fucking _Nicholas Grimshaw_ that night in the club.

Staying in this room is going to kill him, he decides and sits up. 

It takes him fifteen minutes to find something to wear because his stuff’s strewn all across the room. He doesn’t mean for it to get that way, it just happens. It’s all so tightly packed in there that once he pulls one article of clothing out, the rest all just come with it. 

Finally, he unearths a clean-enough t-shirt from a pile near the chair and tugs it over his head. 

He goes down to breakfast in a mood, which isn't unusual for him lately. Harry and Alberto are the only ones actually awake at the crack of dawn, but Louis hasn't gotten any sleep and doesn't have the energy to skulk around his room for hours yet. 

“Morning,” he mumbles as he brushes past towards the table. Harry jumps and stares after him. 

“Louis,” he says, neutral. Everything about them is neutral now. “You're up early.”

Louis laughs once, harsh, and pours chocolate cereal into his bowl. 

“Apparently, having your secret husband and accidental baby exposed for all the world to see makes it hard to get any sleep. Funny, that.”

When he turns around, Harry’s face is impossibly sad. 

“Still?”

“It's been just a few months, Harry. Use your brain, do you really think the shit on Twitter will have died down by now?”

“You don't have to be mean about it.”

Louis just grunts, sitting his bowl down on the table with more force than necessary. Part of the fans think the baby’s not real, part of the fans think he's going to hell for having sex with a man, and the last part are screaming at him to pick a goddamn side. 

Fuck, this baby news came at exactly the wrong time. 

“Nick says he's still getting homophobic shit too,” Harry says after a moment. 

Louis honestly liked it better when they weren't talking to each other. 

“Do you think,” he spits out, vicious, “that I give a flying fuck about whatever’s happening to Nick?” 

Harry flinches, his face shuttering blank and Louis hates, hates, hates it. Hates that the can see Nick echoed in Harry’s expression and that Harry chose Nick over Louis. 

God, Louis really hates that. 

“You should,” Harry points out, voice hard. “It’s your fault it’s happening.” 

“It’s _my_ fault? Who sent the fucking divorce papers, Harry? Was it me?” 

“You signed them.” 

“I didn’t have any choice!” he yells, far too loud for this hotel breakfast area. “I had no fucking choice in _any_ of this and it’s _my_ fault? Fuck you, Harry. Honestly, go to hell.” 

Harry doesn’t move, just sips at his disgusting herbal tea and stares Louis down. “Very large outburst for someone who doesn’t give a flying fuck.” 

He’s well and truly horrible sometimes, Louis decides. Fucking impossible. 

“I could punch you,” he says but Harry just shrugs. 

“Do it, then.” 

Louis won’t, and Harry knows that. He just shoves another spoonful of cereal in his mouth and chews angrily. 

“What’s got you so upset this morning?” 

“Nothing,” he mutters. “It’s nothing.” 

It’s Twitter, and the gossip papers, and the fact that he can’t sleep at night because all he can think about are the places he’s failed. God, he’s failed so much and it’s all out for the world to see. 

Briana’s maybe the worst part of it all. Not because he dislikes her, but because of the way it all went south. Suddenly, she was pregnant before they had a chance to define their relationship, decide if they even wanted a relationship. 

He’s gonna try now, for the baby. 

Harry’s face twists into something like pity, but it’s been so long since they’ve even talked to each other that Louis can’t be sure. He used to be able to read Harry like a book, a glimpse at his face and Louis knew instantly what he was thinking, but it hasn’t been that way in _years._ Not since the divorce, not since Harry picked Nick over his _brother._

The milk sours in his mouth and he drops his spoon onto the table with a clatter. Harry and Alberto look at him strangely, but he doesn’t care, just shoves back his chair and walks away. His stomach’s churning and his head hurts from not sleeping and he just wants to crawl into bed for hours and hours. 

He finds himself at Liam’s door instead, knocking piteously on the wood and praying Liam hears him. Liam does, because Liam is a saint, and he tugs Louis into a hug as soon as he catches sight of him. 

Louis wraps his arms around Liam’s chest and just _breathes_ for a second, feeling everything in him settle for a heartbeat. 

“You alright, mate?” Liam mumbles when enough time passes for the hug to start being a little weird, even though his arms don’t let up. Louis nods and presses his face into Liam’s shoulder. 

“Rough morning,” he answers. “Rough night.” 

“Yeah?” 

Louis loosens his grip and takes a half step back from Liam, enough space for both of them to breathe and for the door to swing closed. Liam’s hotel room is an exact replica of his own, but significantly less messy. He’s honestly not sure how Liam keeps it decently neat. Louis always wants to pull out his hair at the sterileness of hotel rooms, spreads his shit around if they’re somewhere longer than a night just so he can make it his own. 

“Tommo?” 

“Sometimes,” Louis says, thumbing at a watermark on a coffee table, “sometimes, I think about being a father and I get so scared I can barely breathe. God, Liam, I can barely take care of myself, and now I’m supposed to be responsible for a child? That’s the most fucked up thing I’ve ever heard.” 

“Why’s it fucked up?” 

Louis levels a look at him. “Look at me. I’m the least important member of a fucking boyband, already divorced before I’m twenty five, and about to be a dad to a child who happened because I fucked up. Everything is fucked up about this situation. And everyone knows it too.” 

“You’re not fucked up, Lou. No one thinks that.”

“Everyone thinks that,” Louis snaps back, “or have you not read the papers recently? Deadbeat dad, me.” 

“Louis,” Liam says, rather sternly. Louis’ shoulders deflate all at once, the fight gone out of him and he’s hit with a wave of tiredness. 

“Do you think it would’ve been easier? If I hadn’t married him?” 

“Maybe,” Liam allows. “But I don’t think you would’ve been happier.” 

 

Some nights, he misses Nick so much that he aches with it. It’s like muscle memory, the ache, even after all these years. He can’t stop it, no matter how firmly he talks to himself, no matter how much he pushes away all the reminders of his ex-husband. He can’t stop it and he can’t sleep and it’s just-- miserable, fucking miserable. 

 

It’s been silent for a couple seconds, long enough for it to be awkward but not long enough for either of them to think of anything to say. Louis hates it. It’s not a comfortable silence and it’s not easy, and _god,_ he just wants one easy thing in his life. 

Briana was supposed to be what was easy in his life, a simple fling for the summer. Nice, sweet, unattached. They’re attached permanently now, for better or for worse. 

“Do you wanna--” he starts just as Briana starts too, and they both laugh awkwardly. “You first.” 

“Oh, I was just… wondering. I want the baby to have a British accent, I think it’d be cute,” she says finally and Louis blinks at the wall. He hadn’t even gotten over the fact that he’s going to be a dad, let alone think about what it’ll grow up to be. “I mean, I’d be fine with whatever. Overjoyed, even, but I was just thinking out loud.”

“Yeah,” he answers after a second. “Yeah, that’d be sick.” 

“What were you going to say?” 

“Er… are you doing anything?” 

“I don’t want to have phone sex with you, Louis,” she teases. She says the _s_ on the end of his name and it twinges in his chest every time he hears it. 

“That’s not-- I meant like in general. Are you busy this week?” 

“Not particularly, no.” 

“Do you want, erm, do you want to fly out? To meet me and like, hang out with the lads.” 

“Oh. Oh, would that be weird?” 

“Not really. We’ve all had girlfriends come and travel with us for a while, get to know everyone. That sort of thing. You could go to the concerts and stuff.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that a lot.” 

“Okay. Sick. I’ll get Paddy to buy the tickets for you. I don’t know where we’re going to be, but it’ll be better with you there. And the baby.” 

“Mm, the little lemon,” she coos and he can just imagine her rubbing at her stomach. His mum used to do it all the time when she was pregnant. “He’s gonna be a musical little baby.” 

“He?” 

“Or she. Dunno, but _he_ sounds right.” 

“You’re the mum, you know best,” Louis tells her and the words only taste a little bitter. “I’ll get you those details soon, then. Any dates off limits?” 

“None,” she replies. “I, um, I’ve got to go. I feel sick--” She makes a little noise that sounds like gagging. Morning sickness, then. 

“Bye, Bria.” 

“See ya, Louis.” 

The line goes dead and he tosses his phone onto the bed beside him, scrubbing at his face. Everything was so much simpler when he was a daft nineteen year old, with too-tight trousers and the world ahead of him. Everything was so much simpler when he could _breathe._ That’s long gone, now, covered by the weight of everyone watching. 

 

It's not really his fault, but Louis kind of hates Nick it for the whole thing.

 

They’re on a fucking worldwide tour and all anyone wants to talk about is the fact that he was married to a man. It’s in every fucking interview and it’s gotten to the point that they all can predict when it happens. The interviewer always gets a bit shifty, leans forward in their chair like they’re trying to smell the gay on him, and then out comes _the question_. If Louis wasn’t already sick of Nick’s name, he’s certainly sick of it now. 

This interviewer is particularly bad and he’s particularly restless before it comes. Louis reads it in his eyes and only just stops himself from rolling his eyes. Niall wraps a hand around Louis’ wrist, a touchstone that Louis welcomes, but it’s not enough to calm him down enough.

“Tell us, Louis,” says the interviewer, “what was it like to have your dirty secrets spilled out for the world to see?” 

“They’re not dirty secrets,” snaps Louis and Niall’s fingers tighten. “None of them are dirty secrets, thank you very much.” 

“Are you sure about that?” 

“We’re talking about them now, aren’t we? And besides, being bisexual isn’t a dirty secret.” 

“You didn’t tell anyone about it,” the interviewer says and it’s all Louis can do not to throw his hands up in the air. Liam’s hand lands on his knee, steadying him. 

“Haven’t you heard of privacy?” he snarls, shrugging the boys off. “No, that’s it. I’m done with this.” 

He stands up abruptly and pushes his way out of the room, past all the security and shocked interns. They can deal with this all later. 

“I want any questions about the baby or Nick blacklisted,” he yells at Paddy. “No more, do you hear me? Not a single one.” 

“Noted, Tommo,” Paddy says, always calm. “Do you want to go back?” 

“Fuck no,” growls Louis, before softening. “Let me calm down for the rest of this interview and then I’ll do the next one.” 

“Deal,” Paddy replies after a second, giving Louis a sad look. It makes his skin prickle, that look, makes him want to punch something or scratch his crawling skin. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he wanders around until he finds a door to the outside. He pulls the packet of cigs out of his pocket and lights one with cold fingers, breathes it in until he can feel himself settling. 

Everyone wants to know why he kept it a secret and this, this is why-- because no one leaves him alone about it, everyone wants to know every fucking detail of every fucking thing of his life and it makes him want to hide it all away where it can’t be sought out. 

The door pushes open and Louis tenses until Niall steps out. His hair’s flat, brown at the roots, and he looks-- tired. Young. 

“Hey, mate,” Niall says, bumping his shoulder. “You alright?” 

Louis grunts and blows a stream of smoke away from him, bumping Niall’s shoulder back. 

“M’fine.” 

“That wasn’t fine, back there.” 

“Why does my sexuality have to be news? Why does it have to be the subject of every conversation? I hate it, I hate that.” 

“It’s just _new,_ Tommo. So it’s interesting.” 

“I’m fucking sick of it,” Louis spits, dropping his cig and grinding at it with a toe. “Up to my eyeballs sick of it.” 

“I know. You’ve got it blacklisted now, haven’t you?” 

“Yeah.” 

“There you go. You can just settle for a bit, let us take the questions,” says Niall, slinging an arm around Louis’ shoulders. Louis tips into the warmth, takes a deep breath and leans into the comforting smell of Niall-- cologne and washing powder and a little tiny bit of beer. 

“Harry said you yelled at him again.” 

“Jesus, Niall,” Louis says. “That’s not making me feel better.” 

“He’s worried about you.” 

“He doesn’t have any right to be worried. He picked Nick’s side.” 

“You don’t really think that, Tommo--” 

“He did. Ask anyone, he did,” he says, straightening up and stepping away. Niall’s face is soft and careful, like Louis might break if Niall’s too harsh. God, Louis wishes he wasn’t so damn close to breaking all the time. 

The door shoves open before either of them can say anything, and Liam stumbles outside, looking apologetic. 

“Sorry, lads. We’ve bought you as much time as we could, but they’re getting antsy now. We’ve got to go.” 

“Right-o, Leemo,” Louis says, putting as much cheeriness into his voice as he can. “Let’s get this shitstorm over with.” 

 

Harry’s downstairs again when Louis stumbles to breakfast, up early once more because he was tired of watching shadows play over his bed. Harry doesn’t look up when Louis comes in, doesn’t react, but Louis can read him well enough to see the tension in his fingers. 

There’s nowhere else to sit, so Louis plonks his bowl of cereal as far away from Harry as he can. Still, it doesn’t discourage talking. 

“You’re up early again.” 

“No shit, Sherlock,” Louis growls into his food, catching him making a face out of the corner of his eye. 

“What… what’s going on? Like, physically.” 

“Can’t sleep,” he says and rubs his eyes. “That’s the most of it, really. I can’t fucking sleep without him at the best of times and it’s the fucking worst.”

“Have you, um, talked to anyone?” 

“This isn’t L.A., Harry. Not everyone needs a fucking therapist.” 

“M’just trying to help--” 

“I didn’t ask for it,” Louis snaps, appetite suddenly gone. He pushes the bowl away and scowls at the table. He’s not even got enough energy to leave, so he just sits there and feels the ache in his bones. 

“The break is going to be good for us,” Harry says after a few minutes. “For all of us, but you especially. It’ll-- it’ll be good.” 

There’s a bitter taste in the back of this throat, one that he doesn’t think will go away for a while. 

“Yeah, it’ll be good,” he says quietly and pushes back at the dread that creeps in. 

“Louis--” 

“Stop trying to fucking fix me, Harry. You’re not-- leave me alone.” 

He pushes past Niall as he leaves the dining room, and Niall grabs his wrist to make him stop. 

“Tommo, wait.” 

“Niall, let go.” 

“What are you upset about now? What did Harry say?” 

“Nothing.” 

“I didn’t say anything,” Harry says anxiously from the doorway. Louis hadn’t even noticed him following. “I didn’t.” 

Niall shoots him a look that makes him go quiet before looking back at Louis. 

“What’s wrong, Louis?” 

“I just-- I need a break. I’m tired and I need a break.” 

Niall’s eyes are keen and searching, and it makes Louis want to pull away. 

“Are you worried about the hiatus? Is that it?” 

“Niall--” 

“We’re not your enemies, Louis. We’re trying to be there for you, to help, and we can’t do that if you don’t talk to us.” 

Niall looks at him for a long moment, lips getting thinner. After a few seconds, he nods. 

“Right, okay,” he mumbles, grabbing Louis by the wrist. “This has gone on for long enough.” 

“What the fuck are you doing? Where are we going?” Louis complains as Niall drags him down the hallway towards the lifts. “You were getting breakfast.” 

“I’m tired of your moping. You’re gonna talk to us.” 

“Like hell I am,” he snaps, trying to wrestle his wrist out of Niall’s surprisingly strong grip. “I’m not doing anything.” 

Niall just makes a noncommittal noise and shoves him into the lift, jabbing the button for their floor. “Fuck off, Harry,” he says cheerfully, as Harry tries to get in too. “Go do some yoga.” 

“But I--” 

“Seriously. Fuck off.” 

The door closes in his face and NiIall finally lets go of Louis, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s got a tiny smile on his face, like he’s enjoying this. 

“Harry’s going to be upset at you,” Louis says quietly. Niall shrugs. 

“Harry needs to be told to fuck off once in a while. It’s good for his character. Gives him something to write songs about.” 

“You can’t make me talk to you.” 

“Yes, I fucking can,” he answers and pushes Louis down the hallway, into his room. He leans against the door so Louis can’t get out. “What’s wrong.” 

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Do I really need to spell it out to you? I’ve got a fucking secret marriage that the whole world knows about, I have a baby--” 

“I know all that. But it’s been like that for a while, Tommo. What’s wrong with you _now_? Why’s this bothering you _now?_ ”

“It never stopped,” he mumbles, shoving a hand through his hair. “It never fucking stopped and I can’t handle it anymore. God, I just want it all to stop. I want to go back to the days when no one knew, and Nick didn’t hate me, when Harry didn’t hate me, when Zayn was here, when I could be stupid and dumb.” 

“Okay.” 

“I still-- I still don’t know what I _did,_ to make Nick send those papers. I don’t know why Harry decided that he loved Nick more than he loved me, I don’t know why Zayn left. Why does everyone fucking leave, Niall? Even when I fucking try so hard to keep them, they leave. God.” His breath catches, enough to make him realise there’s tears threatening to fall. He swallows hard and pinches his thigh. “Nick… Nick said I didn’t trust him, but how the fuck could I when he _left,_ just like I knew he would.” 

“I’ve not left,” Niall says softly, taking a step forward. He catches Louis’ hand again and presses it to his chest, so Louis can feel his heart pumping. “Look, I’m here.” 

“You are for now.” 

“I’m here,” he insists and Louis shakes his head. 

“You’re leaving, everyone is. That’s what the break is, innit? It’s a goodbye, and I’ll be alone. Once more, I’ll be all by my fucking self.” 

“That won’t happen, Louis. We’re your _family_ and family doesn’t leave. I promise you, we won’t.” 

Louis’ breath catches again and it takes him a second to speak, soft. “You can’t keep that promise, though. I know it’s going to happen. You’re going to make music and have the time of your fucking life, and you won’t want to come back.” 

“It’s a hiatus, not a death sentence.” 

“It’s both, for me.”

Niall’s face goes all alarmed and Louis sighs, taking a few steps back to collapse on the bed. “Christ, Niall. Not like that. I mean, everyone’s going to go off and be wildly successful and I’m just going to fade into obscurity, forgotten.” 

“Louis.” 

“It’s fine. I know it’s a lucky thing for me to have done all this, get to know you so well, but eventually the luck has to run out, right? Eventually, you’re going to move on and that’s fine. It’s fine.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ. You’ve been carrying that around all this time? Fucking hell.”

“I’m tired of it.”

Niall sits down next to him on the bed, knocking their knees together in a comforting sort of way. It’s quiet, the sort of quiet that’s brimming with words and thoughts, but neither of them break it. 

Louis used to hate silence. He used to find any way of filling it, chattering, flirting, arguing, singing. Could never stand the thoughts in his own head, until everything started falling apart, falling away. This silence, though, isn’t so bad. 

“I love you, mate,” Niall says lowly. “That’s never going to change. I don’t care what you think’s going to happen, but you’re never getting rid of us. We’re like, dunno, scars or summat. Here to stay.” 

“Love you, Nialler. Gross analogy, though.” 

“Fuck off,” he mumbles, kicking at Louis’ ankles. 

“You fuck off,” Louis replies and kicks back until Niall hooks a leg over his, immobilizing him. 

“Nope, sorry. Not gonna.” 

 

Briana arrives a few days later, too close to the show for Louis to pick her up. He sends Alberto instead and paces around the dressing room, pre-show nerves mingling with the anxiety about seeing her again. Fuck, she’s going to be _pregnant_. With his _baby._ Fuck. 

There’s traffic--probably because of their show-- so he’s whisked onto stage before he can see her, but he knows she’s in the audience as he performs, can almost make out her figure in their VIP seating. 

The boys are hovering around him in a subtle way, not enough for anyone to notice, but there’s always someone right behind him whenever he turns around. Even Harry stands a few inches closer than he normally does, radiating concern. 

Louis is determined to prove nothing’s wrong, though. He refuses to let it get to the best of him, refuses to make this show any less incredible for the fans. Everyone else be damned. 

She’s there when he gets off the stage, smiling nervously and her belly protruding just the tiniest bit. He grins back, high on adrenaline. 

“Hi, love,” he says and her cheeks go the slightest bit pink. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulls him into a hug and kisses his cheekbone. 

“You’re all sweaty,” she tells him with a little laugh. 

“Ah, yeah. Sorry.” He pulls his shirt away from his body and grimaces. “Give me a mo’, I’ll go shower and change. You can just…” He flaps his hand around the green room. “Just hang out here and I’ll be back.” 

Her _okay_ echoes behind him as he disappears down the hall. Taking the quickest shower known to man, he roots through his bag until he finds a suitable t-shirt. He’s back out, hair still wet, in fifteen minutes. 

Briana blinks up at him with her hands resting on her belly. He can’t stop noticing her belly. His child’s in there. 

“That was fast.” 

He shrugs, sitting next to her on the sofa. It’s an old one and they both sag towards the middle, towards each other. She smells like flowers or summat, sweet, and she’s fucking gorgeous, even with her hair piled haphazardly on her head. 

“Was the flight alright? Not too bumpy or whatnot?” 

“No, it was fine.” 

“What about the room at the hotel?”

She smiles and reaches out her hand so their pinkies are hooked together. “It’s fine, Louis. Wonderful.” 

“You can, erm. You can stay in my room if you’d like. I just thought you might prefer having your own space too. Just in case.” 

That turns her smile a little sour and she inches her fingers away. “Very kind of you. I might do that. I will warn you, I have to pee a lot during the night.” 

“I know that.” 

“Like, a lot. I didn’t know I could get up every hour to use the bathroom, but somehow it happens.” 

“It’s alright. You won’t bother me; dead to the world, I am.” 

“He’s not wrong,” Liam says as he passes by. His hair’s wet too and it drips on Louis’ neck when he leans over the back of the sofa. “He slept through a fire alarm once. Paul nearly had to break down the door to get him out. M’Liam, by the way. The talented one of the group.” 

Louis snorts as Briana laughs again, reaching up to muss with his hair. 

“You’re a bad liar, Payno.” 

“You’re just jealous,” Liam teases and Louis swallows the bit of heaviness that lands in his stomach at the words. It hits just a bit too close to home. 

Harry floats by, his eyes fixed on his phone screen. He looks up at Briana’s voice and smiles widely. Louis always forgets that Harry knew her before, that they had a friendship first. Fuck, all of his relationships seem to start with Harry. 

“Hello, Bria. Good to see you again.” 

“And you, H,” she says, squeezing his hand. “The hair looks good.” 

“Thanks,” he replies, fixing it self-consciously. “Grew it myself.” 

He gives one of his tiny bows at the groans and wanders away with a tiny goodbye. Liam and Louis look at each other and roll their eyes. 

“Tosser,” Liam says fondly. Louis nods and tips farther into Briana, settling their shoulders together. 

“Are you hungry?” 

“A bit,” Briana answers. “I snacked on the plane, but not enough for the baby.” The word pulls his eyes back down to her stomach and he nods, swallowing hard. 

“We’ll get you something on the way. I’m, uh, fucking starved so we’ll probably stop at McDonalds or summat. Unless you’re trying not to eat fast food? In which case we can find you some juice, or kale. Harry’s good at knowing where that is; we can ask him--” 

“Louis,” she interrupts, putting a hand on her arm. “McDonalds is fine, promise. Just as long as it’s soon because I’m about to fall asleep.” 

“Yeah, Alberto should be getting us out soon. We have to wait for the crowds to empty a bit.” 

“Smart.” She yawns widely and tips her head back against the sofa, blinking furiously. Within a few seconds, she’s asleep. 

Louis lets her be until Alberto gives them the all clear and hustles them into the waiting car. 

 

Briana follows him into his room when they get to the hotel, fingers salty with chip grease. He’s glad for the company; sleeping alone has never been his favourite thing to do and he’s been missing the feeling of another body next to him. 

“Shit, this is a nice hotel.” 

“Yeah, well. We’re One Direction, what did you expect?” he says with a smile, only half-joking. “We can sleep on the tour bus if you’d like. The beds aren’t very comfortable to share but it’s definitely not as nice.” 

“No, no. This is perfect.” 

“Wait until you feel the bed,” he tells her and her eyes get wide. Three seconds later and she’s perched on the sheets, sighing. 

“Oh god, this is so comfortable. I’m going to sleep so well.” She yawns again. “I could fall asleep right here, if we’re being honest.” 

“S’the point of a bed, innit?” he teases and gathers his pyjamas. “I’m going to get ready quickly and then it’s all yours, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she echoes, flipping through the channels. “Take your time.” 

It’s later, when they’re laying side by side in the dark, that the words start to spill out. 

“Do you regret it?”

“Hmm?” 

“The baby. The sex. Do you regret it, any of it?” 

It’s quiet for a few seconds and then she flips over so they’re nose to nose, a handbreadth apart. 

“I regret everyone finding out the way they did. But other than that, no. No, I don’t.” Her breath catches. “Do… do you?” 

“No,” he replies. “I don’t think I do.” 

“Do you want to feel the baby?” 

“What?” 

“Do you want to feel? They’re not kicking or anything but I just thought--” 

“Fuck, yeah of course. I’d love to.” 

She catches his hand and presses it to her stomach, lets him feel out the shape. It’s overwhelming, really, to try and conceptualize that there’s a baby in there, albeit a small one. 

“God,” he breathes. “It’s our baby.” 

“Our baby,” she repeats, the end of the words swallowed up by his kiss. Her hands go to his hair instantly, tightening in the strands so he’s locked in close to her. 

They kiss and kiss until his mouth feels raw, and she can barely keep her eyes open, and then he curls his body around hers. 

“I’m glad it was you,” she mumbles, half-asleep. “Of anyone in the world, I’m glad it was you.” 

It makes his insides twist with something like sorrow, despite it all. God, there are so many _if-only’s_ in his life, so many times he wishes he could do over. He loves her, but maybe--

Maybe not enough. 

The revelation sinks into his chest, digging in, and he knows that this is only going to end one way. He’s stubborn enough to try at this relationship, but it’s never going to work if he’s still hung up on Nick. 

He’d give everything not to be hung up on Nick anymore. Anything in the whole fucking universe. 

 

_Call me when you’re home for good._

The words bounce around Louis’ head for months, following him through the tour until he can’t stop thinking about it. 

Where the fuck even _is_ home, anyway? Home is wrapped up in a blanket in his mum’s house with his sisters hanging off his limbs, it’s crowded in the back of the bus with the boys all tangled together, its-- 

It’s the hugs Nicholas gives, it’s the shitty flat where the heating barely worked, it’s the bed soaked in moonlight the night before Louis said goodbye the last time. 

Fuck, fuck. 

As soon as he lands on the idea, it takes up residence and refuses to move out. Surely this wasn’t what Nick was talking about, but it’s the only good answer Louis can give. Fuck. 

And one night, when he’s nearly too drunk to stand and too tired to care, he fishes his phone out his pocket and pulls up the number he never quite managed to delete. There, in the dark of the club that’s somehow far too familiar, he taps out an answer. 

_home is where my husband is._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there will be more (hopefully updated sooner). thanks for reading!!!


	7. still i choose to swim, slip beneath the tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's done it's done!! finally!!!! thank you for sticking around for nearly a year. i appreciate it a lot!!! it's truly been a labour of love for me and for you but now it's finally done and i can celebrate. 
> 
> thank you to justine for the beta!!
> 
> enjoy xx

**[still i choose to swim, slip beneath the tide // nick // 2017]**

“You’re as big as a _blimp.”_

“Yes, I know, Grimmy,” Aimee says with a smile, dropping down into the nearest chair. She settles her hands over her belly and stretches a foot out. “Thanks for reminding me I’m fucking ginormous. God, when’s this baby going to get it over with? I’m tired of my feet being swollen.” 

“So am I,” Ian says. “Seeing as I’m the one who massages them every day.” 

“And I love you for it,” she replies, tipping her head up for a kiss. Ian obliges and flips Nick off when he coos. 

“Couple of my dreams,” says Nick, sighing happily. “You’re welcome for everything.” 

“We know, you’re a genius matchmaker blessed by Cupid himself. I don’t think you can take all the credit though. It’s chance that Ian was producer.” 

“Or that Aimee became friends with a wanker like you,” Ian says and Nick makes an outraged noise. 

“‘Scuse me, but I am a delight who has only brought laughter and love into your lives. You should be indebted to me indefinitely.” 

“Sure, Grimmy,” Aimee tells him fondly. “Whatever you say.” 

“That’s more like it.” 

“Speaking of love and laughter, where’s Colin?” Ian calls from the kitchen over the sound of cupboards opening. He better not be rearranging the plates again. 

“Walking the dogs,” Nick calls back. “Said he was tired of looking at numbers and needed some time in the great outdoors. So I said the dogs needed the same thing and off they went.” 

“I was wondering why Stinky wasn’t here to try and bowl me over.” 

“Stinky’s little, Aims. He can barely knock a cup over.” 

“Yeah, and I’m pregnant. Low centre of gravity and all that shit. It only takes a bit of a breeze and I’m flat on my back in the middle of the street.” 

“S’true, I saw it happen,” confirms Ian as he comes into the room, handing Aimee a glass of water. 

“All he did was laugh, the prick.” Nick’s laughing too, now, and Aimee flaps her hand at him. “Both of you are dead to me. I’m raising this baby on my own without a strong male presence.” 

“Sorry, darling. I’ll rub your feet again to make up for it.” 

“I suppose that’ll be fine with me. God, when is this baby coming _out?_ ” 

Nick and Ian just make sympathetic noises. It’s the best way to deal with her currently. 

The door swings open and the dogs rush in, followed by Colin. 

“I’m back-- oh, hullo. Aimee! Still pregnant!” 

“Unfortunately,” she replies and Pig puts her paws on Aimee’s lap, begging for attention. “Nice to see you, Colin.” 

“Hello, pet,” Nick says, smiling when Colin pecks him on the cheek. “How was the fresh air?” 

“Fresh. And rather nippy, sadly. Spring’s still yet to come, I think.” He sticks his hand down the collar of Nick’s shirt, making him jump with the cold. 

“Christ, that’s cold.” 

“Told you.” 

“Warm up before you touch me, Jesus. Your hands were like ice.” 

Colin laughs, winding his scarf around his hand and hanging it by the door. Nick watches him put everything neatly away and turns back fast enough to catch a weird look on Aimee’s face. 

“What? Are you okay?” 

Her features smooth out into a neutral expression, lips tipped up at the ends. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

He squints at her but her expression doesn’t change and his attention is pulled elsewhere. Colin sits on the sofa next to Nick and reaches for his hand, tangling their fingers together. It’s nice, even if Colin’s hands are cold. 

Aimee’s still looking at them but she glances away when she catches Nick’s gaze. She’s behaving so strangely, even for her pregnant self, and it’s making him feel nervous. 

“Is everything alright?” he whispers to her when they get a moment alone. She stretches up and pats his jaw gently. 

“Right as rain, Grimmy. Just admiring you and Colin, is all. You make a nice couple.” 

“We do, don’t we? A proper power couple.” 

Aimee laughs at that. “He’s good for you and that’s all that matters.” 

“Fit, too, which is also important.” 

“Maybe for vain people, but those of us who are more modest focus on what’s under the surface,” she teases and he rolls his eyes. 

“I am so modest. The most modest person in the world,” he says and Aimee snorts. Nick can tell by Colin’s smile that he’s caught the tail end of their conversation. “Colin thinks so.” 

“Whatever you say, Grimmy,” says Colin in a way that sounds more soothing than anything else. Nick pulls a face. 

“You’re all dead to me. All of you, even Ian.” 

“I haven’t done anything! I’ve just been over here minding my own business.” 

Nick points a finger at him and cocks an eyebrow. “You’ve been plotting, you have. I can tell from your face.” 

“My face is normal.” 

“Nothing about you is normal,” Aimee tells him, grinning. “Least of all your face.” 

“Hush, or I’ll divorce you, baby on the way n’all,” Ian says airily and it sends the smallest twinge into Nick’s chest. Not as bad as it used to be, back before everything, but it’s still there. 

Colin squeezes his hand and just like that, the feeling disappears until it’s just a ghost, a shadow on the edges of Nick’s memory. 

 

The baby comes a week or two later, screaming at the top of her tiny little lungs. Nick would expect nothing else from Aimee and Ian’s child. She’s perfect in every way from her fingers to her toes, which Ian counts every hour or so just to make sure they’re still all there. 

“You’re proper obsessed, mate,” Nick says when Ian crowds in again to take another look. Sunday’s all bundled up in Nick’s arms, sleeping peacefully and being a generally exceptional baby like she always is.

“I can’t help it. She’s really here and I’m her dad. Oh god, I’m her dad.” 

“Yes, you are.” Sunday snuffles in her sleep and tips her head into Nick’s chest. He can understand why Ian’s obsessed with her. “How’s Aimee?” 

“Sleeping still. She’s exhausted from it all. I would be too, if I were in her shoes. The nurse says it’s the last sleep she’s going to get in a while, so she should enjoy it.” 

“Proper good advice, that,” Nick says, smiling down at Sunday. “So I shouldn’t be expecting you as special guests on the Breakfast Show?” 

“God, no. Not anymore.” 

“I wonder what kind of music Sunday’ll like. Do you think she looks like a rock girl? She might do.” 

“You’re dead fucking weird, Grimmy,” says Ian and Nick frowns at him. 

“Not in front of the baby. Christ, she’s going to have a mouth like a sailor if you continue like that.” 

Ian rolls his eyes, reaching out to tap at the baby’s nose with a careful finger. She doesn’t budge. 

“Here, you can have her back.” 

Ian looks surprised. “You sure? You haven’t held her that long.” 

“Yeah, me arm’s getting tired. Also, Colin should be here in a bit and he wants to go to lunch.”

“Oooh, lunch,” Ian says as they transfer the baby over to his arms. “That sounds serious.” 

“We’ve been dating for six months,” Nick tells him flatly. “So, yeah, just a bit.” 

“I didn’t realise it was that long.” 

“Yep, soon to be seven. It’s incredible, really. I didn’t think I had the attention span to keep anyone around for a month, let alone five.” 

Ian hums and Nick can feel the elephant in the air, the one where they don’t talk about Louis. He’s grateful for good friends who don’t bring it up, in any case. 

“Are you going to move in with him, then?” 

“What?” NIck asks, unable to keep the shock off his face. 

“If it’s really been nearly seven months, well. That’s about the time you start talking about things like moving in, yeah?” 

“God, no. It’s too soon.” 

“You said it was serious,” Ian says with a shrug and manages not to drop Sunday. 

“Yeah, but not like _move-in together_ serious. Just normal serious. _We’re calling each other boyfriends and eating in public_ serious.” 

“I think your opinions of a serious relationship are a little fucked, mate.” 

“They’re not!” 

“Alright,” Ian tells him, shrugging again. “If you say so.” 

“I do say so,” Nick replies. Sunday sticks a fist in the air, stretching. “See, even she agrees with me.” 

“Suppose she does,” Ian says and smiles down at her. “She’s perfect.” 

Nick’s phone goes off with a text from Colin then, interrupting the inevitable cooing they’ve gone through three times already. 

“That’s Colin, I’ve got to go.” He drops a kiss on Sunday’s forehead and then Ian’s, laughing when Ian jerks away. “Tell Aimee I said hello.” 

“Ta, will do.” 

Nick takes the steps down to the carpark two at a time. Colin’s been waiting for a few minutes already and he sounds impatient. Nick would probably be impatient too if he only had an hour lunch break and spent fifteen minutes in a carpark. 

“Hiya, I’m here,” he says, sliding into the waiting car and folding his legs into the seat. Colin laughs, a little shortly, and starts the car, pulling out far quicker than he should at the hospital. “Where are we going for lunch?” 

“Thought I’d try someplace new today. It’s a little restaurant my coworker told me about.” 

“Sick,” Nick mumbles and Colin gives him a little smile, covering Nick’s hand with his own. “As long as there’s food, I’m down. I’m fucking starving. Something about being in a hospital makes me absolutely _ravenous_ , you know? Not sure why, but it always happens.” 

“That’s weird, Grim.” 

“Dead weird,” he agrees. “Story of my life, innit?” 

“I genuinely do not know anyone else who has a weirder life, if we’re being honest. You have a habit of finding yourself in situations.” 

“But I make a lot of friends because of it.” 

“That is true,” Colin says with a nod. “You have a fuck-tonne of friends.” 

“So do you.” 

“Yeah, right. They’re all accountants and business men.” He gives Nick a sideways smile that does something funny to Nick’s stomach, makes it flop over. God, Colin’s attractive. 

“Babe, you know talking about your work turns me on,” Nick says, waving a hand around. Colin laughs and flicks him on the thigh. “No, I’m serious. All those numbers, mmm. Sexy.” 

“Shut up or you’re buying dinner.” 

Nick yawns and folds his arms together, settling back in his seat. He’s not one to be quiet but sometimes he likes to prove that he can actually stop talking. Especially with Colin, who can be silent for hours and hours. 

They pull up into the restaurant soon after. It’s nice, tiny but all lit up on the outside. The name is something in French, fancy enough for Nick to be the tiniest bit intimidated. He pretends he’s posh, but sometimes he feels like he’s still a Northern boy thrown into the stress of high society again. This is one of those times. 

Colin orders a bottle of red wine so Nick just gets a water, smiling up at the waiter. He looks vaguely like Harry did years ago, all dimples and curly hair. 

“Harry’s on air next month,” he says. Colin doesn’t look up from his menu. “Premiering his new song.” 

“I know. It’s been on the adverts all week. Is it as good as everyone hopes it’ll be?” 

“It might be, yeah. I like it but we’ve got similar tastes in music, Harry and I. Reckon you’ll like it too. It’s very old rock.” 

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” Colin says, finally putting that damn menu down. He looks the tiniest bit nervous, but so was Nick looking at the dish names. “If it’s Harry.” 

Nick gives him a smile. Harry and Colin have always had a bit of a strained relationship; Harry’s a little protective and Colin’s a bit suspicious. No matter how many times Nick tells him he’s not into Harry at all, Colin can’t quite let it go. Personally, Nick think it’s ridiculous, if only because only a wanker bangs two boys from the same band. Also, because Harry’s an idiot. 

It’s an old argument, one that Nick’s not keen to get into right now. Not with the waiter right there and the nice atmosphere. 

“I’ll have the chicken,” he says when the waiter crooks an eyebrow at him. “Please.” 

Colin nods, rattling off his own order, and waits until they’re alone to talk again. 

“How was work?” 

“Erm... fine? We got out early because Fiona didn’t feel well. Honestly, I think she just wanted to get out meetings, but nothing important’s happening right now so we just cancelled.” 

“That’s lucky.” 

“Yeah. What about you? Anything interesting?” 

Colin shrugs, fidgeting with the silverware. “Nothing much. Just balancing budgets and whatnot.” He falls silent for a few minutes and Nick looks at him curiously. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. Colin starts, just a bit. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just-- well, I actually have something I’d like to ask.” 

“Okay,” Nick says suspiciously. Colin’s still not looking at him properly and a wave of dread floods through him. Dread at what, Nick can’t say, but it’s there nevertheless. “Go on, then. Don’t leave us in suspense.” 

“We’ve been dating for a while. Seven months--” 

“--six--” he mumbles but Colin doesn’t stop.

“--and I was wondering… well. I was wondering if you’d like to move in with me. Or me with you, it doesn’t really matter to me. I know you like your flat and it’s closer to the Beeb, so probably your place.” 

“Oh.” 

Colin goes a little red and straightens the fork a tad bit more. “We don’t have to. It was just a thought.” 

“No, that was a good _oh._ I’m just surprised, but God, yeah. I’d love to live with you.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Seriously,” Nick says around the dread that’s still choking him, crawling up his throat. “Let’s do it. I’m dead bored of living by myself, anyway. Fuck, move in with me.” They both laugh and Colin reaches out to tangle their fingers together. He’s grinning, still a little flushed but looking so happy. 

Nick, curiously, feels the slightest bit out of place, like he’s slipped sideways out of his life just enough for it to feel weird. He shakes himself and tries to be in the moment, tries to enjoy the feeling of Colin’s hand around his own like he should. 

His arm itches, just over his elbow. He scratches at it mindlessly, ignoring the black lines under his fingertips. 

 

Nick taps through his phone idly, half-registering the Snapchat stories the way you do early in the morning. It’s still dark outside and his car is late. Or, he might be done early but the former’s a lot more probable. He keeps himself awake by scrolling and sipping at his coffee mug, the remnants of a cup still in the bottom. 

Lou’s story feels infinite. There are endless pictures of Lux, it seems like, but he perks up when pictures of Sunday pop up. His most favourite godchild, she is. He just doesn’t tell the rest. 

There’s one of a preteen girl holding and Nick presses his finger down, squinting at the screen. She looks all too familiar, something about the set of her chin. It’s not until he sees Lottie on the next story that he realizes it’s _Daisy_ , of all people. 

Fuck, why are Louis’ sisters holding _his_ godchild? Why are there with Aimee at all? Did Lou bring them with her? 

God, it feels like a personal attack on him. He knows it’s not, knows Lou would never do that to him, but he hadn’t thought he’d see those girls ever again, let alone at his best friend’s house. 

Colin lets out a snore from inside the bedroom and it makes Nick jump, dispersing thoughts of Louis being there, Louis maybe in a room with Aimee and a new baby. God, that would be a disaster. 

Nick glances guiltily in Colin’s direction when he snores again, though he can’t explain why. He’s not _doing_ anything wrong, but he’s unsettled about it nevertheless. 

The phone buzzes with the notification of his car outside and he leaves in a hurry, barely checking to see if the door locks behind him. It’s idling in the street outside his building and he opens the door with a weary _good morning._

The car smells like Louis. Nick almost chokes on it getting in, the scent sitting unpleasantly on his skin and making him feel uncomfortable. Of course it does, because he can’t catch a fucking break. Fuck knows how a cabbie can afford Louis’ expensive cologne, but he apparently can, and it’s just Nick’s luck that he got in this car. It makes him want to dye his hair again, that urge itching in his bones to do something dumb and stupid. Even the thought of Colin back home doesn’t make it go away. 

The unpleasantness won't leave him alone so he pulls out his phone to tweet about it. He's allowed a bit of a whine, he's so fucking sick of being half in love with his ex-husband who was last papped with his arm around a stunning, tiny, American actress. She's probably very nice but Nick sort of hates her on principle. 

He's allowed that too. He shouldn’t even be _thinking_ about Louis, doesn’t usually make a habit of it anymore, but the picture and smell are enough to make old habits come roaring back. And that’s what he thinks they are. Habits. That’s all.

They’ve been divorced longer than they’d been married, now. It’s fucking mental to think about the passage of time like that, but it’s true. It feels like lifetimes ago, and hours ago all in one. He’s in a relationship, for fuck’s sake, with a boy he likes. Might love, even, eventually. 

He just wants it all to be left alone. He wants Louis to fade into obscurity in his head until he’s nothing more than a old mistake years ago. God, he just wants it all gone. 

 

He does what he usually does in a time of crisis and books a session with his favourite tattoo artist. Not that he’s having a crisis. He just needs another tattoo. 

Colin laughs when he finds out. “Why?” 

Nick shrugs and glances down at his thighs. “My legs feel a bit wonky.” 

“A bit wonky,” Colin repeats, a smile still dancing on his lips. 

“Yeah. Lopsided. I’ve got these numbers on this side and it’s just _bald_ on the other. I feel bad for it.” 

Colin laughs harder. “Alright then. If you feel so lopsided, then I guess you should fix it. Do you want me to go with you?” 

“If you’d like. It’s in the afternoon, so if you can’t I understand. Don’t really need anyone there, it’s hardly my first one,” he says and Colin gives him a long, thorough kiss. It makes Nick’s head spin. 

“I’ll see if I can go. What are you going to get?” 

Nick pulls up the leg of his shorts to examine his thigh again, tapping on it with impatient fingers. 

“Dunno yet. Roses, maybe? I like flowers, and I think they’d look dead cool here.” Harry’s got a rose tattoo and Nick’s always loved it, but he doesn’t tell Colin that. 

Colin considers his leg too and nods thoughtfully. “Roses, I like it.” He draws shapes on his skin, making Nick shiver and goosebumps rise. 

“Lopsided legs, huh?” 

“I don’t like things to be uneven.” 

“I noticed,” Colin says with a smile, glancing around the room. Everything’s perfectly balanced, even if it looks off to the untrained eye. It’s probably why he likes Colin so much, because he’s even and balanced and doesn’t do _surprises,_ doesn’t do mood swings or arguments. He’s steady and that’s what Nick needs, what he wants. 

“Kiss me,” Nick says, tipping his head up and Colin obliges, pressing him into the back of the sofa until Nick can’t breathe. He just grips Colin’s shoulders and lets himself be kissed, lets his toes curl at the feeling of it all. 

 

“Good morning,” Nick drawls out into the mic, smiling at Harry. “It’s a lovely Friday morning and I’ve got the just as lovely Harry Styles on. Harry, what are we doing today?” 

“We are announcing my new song, Grimmy,” says Harry and grins back at him. It looks a little manic. 

“Ooh, how exciting. Are you all excited to hear it, cos I am, and we’re going to, right after the break.” 

Harry bursts into laughter as soon as Nick switches the mics off, jittery with nervous energy. 

“It’s almost time,” Nick sings, throwing out his hands. Harry does a little smile-grin-grimace thing and shoves his hand through his hair. 

“It’s almost time,” he agrees, sounding like he’s not sure what to feel. “God, my music’s almost about to be loose on the world.” 

“Mm, like that’s never happened before,” Nick teases and Harry rolls his eyes. 

“It was different with One Direction. The other boys had input into it and everything. Now it’s just me.” 

“You’re going to smash it, H. It’s a good song and everyone’s going to love it.” 

“God, I hope so. It’d be proper embarrassing if it were shit.” 

“It’s not shit.” 

Harry drops his head down onto the table and groans. He’s rubbing his hands over his thighs like they’re sweaty and Nick settles his own hand on the back of Harry’s neck. 

“Hey there, love. You’re going to be alright.” 

“I might possibly vomit.” 

“Not on the desk, you won’t.” 

He rubs at Harry’s shoulder, where it meets his neck and the little nub of bone right there. Harry used to get like this in the beginning, go pale with fear and retch in their shared bathroom before shows. Louis would have to calm him down and it would nearly always make them late.

“Deep breaths, love,” he mumbles, trying to remember how Louis would get Harry to stop hyperventilating. “Deep breaths and chin up, we’re about to go on again.” 

Harry groans again but sits up straight, gives Nick a shaky smile. “Shit, here we go.” 

“Welcome back to the Breakfast Show everyone! We’ve got Harry Styles on and we’re about to play his new song for the very first time. No one’s heard this yet, have they? It’s not leaked or anything?” 

“Not that I know of,” says Harry. 

“Right then, aren’t you all a lucky bunch. Anyway, enough waiting. For the very first time, here’s “Sign of the Times” by our very own Mr Styles!” 

Nick cues the music and lets it fill the room. Harry decompresses about thirty seconds in, when there’s definitely no going back. It’s the anticipation that kills him, really. He lets out a sigh and a giggle, leans back in his chair. 

“I’m glad that’s over. Christ, I feel like I almost had a heart attack.” 

Harry's phone is blowing up with notifications, well wishers texting him congratulations on the new song. He gives all of them a cursory glance and leaves them unanswered, except for one. 

"The boys?" Nick asks when he notices the small smile on Harry's face. Harry hums an agreement and finishes his text. 

"Yeah, Jack's awake and enjoying it. He says hi by the way. I know you don't know each other but--" 

"Jack?" 

"Jack, from Dunkirk? He's one of the co-stars?" 

"Oh, I thought... I thought it was one of the One Direction boys,” Nick mumbles, a little pathetically. Harry waves a hand, still texting with the other. 

"No, they heard it long ago. I sent them an email." 

"An email." 

"Yeah, we don't text much, not after Niall got hacked. Email's just a lot more secure." 

"Shit, I’d hate that," Nick says to himself. Emails are his least favourite thing to write; he always feels like he has to fill them up with nonsense to make them look more important. Harry shrugs, putting his phone down. 

“It’s not bad. Liam always sends long, lovely letters. Niall always sends us bits of his song, and Louis sends pictures of Freddie.” 

Nick’s chest contracts. 

“Oh? That sounds great.” Harry gives him a knowing look over his phone. Nick frowns back. “C’mon, your stupid song’s almost over. We have to go back to talking about it.” 

Harry sighs, shoulders dropping. He sets his phone down on the console, face down, and gives a thumbs up. “Okay, I’m ready.” 

“That song’s really, really good,” Nick says into the mic and Harry’s smile gets bigger. 

“Thanks!” 

“Like, really good. Can we talk about that time, the first time I heard it? And we were in your car and I knew I had to hear it before the interview.” 

“That would be wise,” Harry drawls, eyes sparkling. 

“But it’s always weird because it’s something you made and I have to hear it for the first time. And it’s a bit weird, and it’s weird for me and weird for you.” 

Harry nods and Nick knows he’s thinking about that time, when he pushed the CD into the slot-- and who the _fuck_ carries things on CDs anymore? Nick had given him grief for that-- and the first few chords started playing. Nick listened to it twice through before he said anything, Harry nearly shitting himself and his nervous energy so strong Nick could almost touch it. 

It was… atmospheric was the only word Nick can use. Just them two, driving along the dark and rainy roads, and this song that Harry’s worked so hard on in between them. They were both lucky it was good. 

After the interview’s done, Harry hangs around for a bit, leans over Nick’s shoulder and tries to mess with the console. Nick bats away his hand with a practiced ease, poking him in the side when he doesn’t stop. 

“Wanker,” he mouths and Harry has to cover his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. He’s pink with happiness and exhilaration and that feeling you get when your art is revealed to the world.

“You’re going to get me fired one day,” Nick tells him when the show’s over and they’re both walking out to the car park. “And then I’ll have to sue you for all your money’s worth.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry says lazily. “Can I come ‘round to yours?” 

“Sure. Colin’s still at work, I think, so you won’t even have to bother him.” 

“I would never.” 

Nick snorts and gets into the car, nodding at the driver in the mirror. “You bother him every chance you get.” 

“I think he’s just annoyed by my presence. I don’t do it intentionally.” 

“You don’t like him.” 

“He’s not my favourite,” Harry allows. “Is he coming to New York with us?” 

“No, sadly. He’s got to work. I’m bringing me mum instead.” 

Harry sits up. “Eileen’s coming?” 

“Yes, she is. We’re going to have a fucking good time, and I am excited. Also, to watch you on SNL will be alright too.” 

“Hit or miss.” 

Nick nudges his leg with his foot. “Dunno why they’re letting you on the show. You’re not funny.” 

“You don’t have to be funny to be the musical guest, Grimmy.” 

“Yeah, but even then,” he teases and Harry rolls his eyes, kicking Nick back. “I hope they don’t let you tell one of your god-awful jokes.” 

“Hey,” Harry protests, baleful. “My jokes are funny.” 

“They’re really not, love. But you get points for trying.” This seems to be enough validation for him and he settles back on the car seat, tipping a lazy grin towards Nick. He’s blinking even slower than usual. “You’re falling asleep, aren’t you?” 

“No,” Harry lies. 

“You pop stars and your late nights. Can’t even get up for an eight o’clock interview,’ Nick says even as he’s throwing Harry a blanket. Harry makes a face. 

“You start nodding off by nine in the evening and you don’t hear me making fun. “

“You tease me about it literally all the time.” 

Harry shushes him and slides farther down so he’s more horizontal, resting his head on his arm and tucking his toes under Nick’s thigh. He’s asleep in minutes. 

 

Eileen on vacation is even wilder than Nick thought she would be, wilder than you think a sixty-something woman could be. She goes out with him at night and sips at a margarita, laughs when he finesses his way to the deck to take a turn as DJ. 

During the day, they spend time at a beach in Malibu, getting toasty in the sun. Eileen puts her toe in the water and decides it’s not for her, besides she’s read that there might be sharks. Nick’s a little more ambitious and wades in to his waist on occasion. 

They make their way up to New York City on Friday, a little burned and thoroughly relaxed. Nick sends a lazy snapchat to Colin of his legs and gets a sad face in response. 

_red as a lobster, me_

_**ouch :(** **it’s raining here**_

**__**_it’s england. it’s always raining,_ Nick texts back. Colin’s not so good at the technology thing, doesn’t have the patience to type out texts at every hour of the day. He tolerates Nick’s stream-of-thought messages but doesn’t participate. It’s fine. 

_send me a picture of the dogs!_

Colin doesn’t reply, but Nick gets a snap twenty minutes later of Pig and Stinky sitting at attention. He coos at the screen and screenshots the picture, pulling it out later to show his mum. 

“Aren’t they lovely?” 

“Very, dear,” Eileen says, patting his arm. She doesn’t seem too preoccupied with them, which Nick finds a bit rude. 

“Have you no concern for your granddogs?” 

“They’re very nice,” she amends. “The best grand-- granddogs in the world.” 

Nick laughs and presses a kiss to her cheek. “Thank you for faking your interest. You’re the best mum.” 

“Course I am. No other mum would be here, partying in America with you, would they?” 

“If it meant they were sitting front row of SNL, watching their friend play onstage, then yeah I think they would.” 

“Oh, hush.”

Harry comes out then, looking nervous and dressed to the nines. Nick’s suddenly very, very proud of him and very, very fond. 

“Is this what you feel like watching me?” Nick whispers to his mum. “I feel like my boy’s all grown up.” 

Eileen stifles a snicker and pats his arm again. “A bit like this, yeah. It’s stronger when it’s your real child.” 

“Harry’s like my child. He crashes on my couch, wakes me up in the middle of the night, and eats all my food,” he reflects as she gives him a long-suffering look and turns her attention back on stage.

Harry’s crooning a slow song, one that Nick’s heard several times at this point. It’s one of his favourites, actually. The crowd is super into it, dancing along and trying to sing even though they don’t know the words. Harry’s still nervous, Nick can tell, but he’s having a good time of it as well. He cheers wildly when the last chord ends and Harry flashes a huge grin to the audience. It’s electric and wild. Harry was always meant to be a star. 

 

Pig and Stinky greet him at the door with high-pitched barks and a lot of licks. Abandoning all decorum, they jump up on Nick with a frantic sort of energy until he drops to his knees. 

“It’s good to see you too,” he says with a laugh, scrubbing his hands over Pig’s fur as Stinky sniffs at his knees. “Did you miss me, pups?” Pig’s tail is wagging so hard she nearly falls over with it and he drops a kiss on her ears for it. 

His knees crack when he stands up, dragging his suitcase back to the bedroom. It’s nicely made up, the way Nick likes, and Colin’s left a note on the pillow. 

_Welcome home._

“Aw, sweet,” Nick mutters and stows it in the bedside drawer. He surveys the bedroom, noting the lack of mess. Colin must’ve put away all the clutter; it even looks like he dusted and hoovered. “What a boyfriend.” 

The flat seems vaguely empty after being with so many people all week. The first half hour is nice, peaceful, but Nick soon feels a nervous itch settle in his bones. He wants to be with people. More than that, he wants to be with Colin, to kiss his face and hug him after so long apart. 

_when do you get off :D_

_**not until 6. takeaway? xx** _

**__**_sounds lovely,_ Nick writes back, suppressing the twinge of disappointment that shivers through him. It’s only just two; he’s going to go mad if he’s by himself all that long. And it’s not like Colin should’ve taken off work to see him, it’s just that maybe Nick would’ve liked him to do so.

He calls Aimee instead, praying she isn’t asleep. 

“Yeah?” she says, picking up on the second ring. He grins just hearing his voice. 

“Hiya, Aims. Are you busy?” 

“Nope, Sunday’s napping. Do you want to come ‘round?” 

“You know me so well,” Nick says fondly and she laughs at the other end of the line. 

“This isn’t just for your benefit, Grim. I’ve not seen a real human adult for too long and I’m driving myself crazy. Bring the dogs if you want and I’ll open a bottle of wine.” 

“I’m already there.” 

Pig and Stinky are a menace to handle on the Tube, so he calls a car instead. It’s just a few minutes but he taps his fingers impatiently on the window the whole ride. He’s restless, and it’s definitely jetlag mixed with caffeine, but still. He can’t shake it. 

“Welcome back, wanker,” Aimee says as she swings open the door, greeting him with a smirk and a hug. “You took longer than I thought you would.” 

“Had a shower,” Nick tells her and nudges the dogs into her flat. “I was all gross from flying.” 

“Ah, yes, the wonders of air travel. I’m surprised you’re still standing.” 

“I got a venti Starbucks coffee.” 

She laughs and kisses him on the cheek. “Well, you’re welcome to sleep on my couch when you inevitably crash.” 

“I will not crash. I am awake and vibrant.” 

Aimee snorts, sitting on the sofa with her feet propped up on the coffee table. “If you say so. The wine’s in the kitchen, if you want to bring it.” 

“‘Scuse me, I’m the guest.” 

“You’re family and I’m a new mother. I deserve this rest.”

Nick concedes the point and fetches the wine and two glasses. Aimee thanks him with a tip of her head. 

“Where’s our lovely Ian?” 

“He’s where most people are this time of day. Working.” 

“How boring.” 

“I know, right,” she says with a wink. “Chumps, all of them.” 

They get halfway through their second glasses before the baby monitor squawks to life. Pig and Stinky start barking at the sound and Nick halfheartedly shushes them. 

“That’s my cue.” Aimee gets up and sets her wine down on the table, disappearing into the dark bedroom. She comes out a few minutes later with Sunday in her arms. 

“It’s my favourite girl in the world,” Nick coos as Aimee hands her over. “She’s gotten so much bigger!” 

“It’s only been two weeks, Grim.” 

“I swear, she’s grown. But she’s just as cute as ever.” 

Sunday smiles at him and sticks her fist in her mouth, chewing on her hand idly. She’s probably Nick’s favourite person on the planet, tied with Arlo. 

“How was Harry?” 

“Brilliant, as always,” he says. “Absolutely smashed SNL.” 

“Of course he did,” Aimee says, sounding pleased. “That’s our boy.” 

“I’ve got Niall on the radio soon, I think in May.” 

“That’ll be fun, Niall’s always good for a laugh. Have you heard his new song?” 

“Not yet. It’s releasing soon, but you didn’t hear that from me.” Sunday wraps her hand around his finger and tries to bite on it, fussing when Nick won’t let her. “I think she’s hungry.” 

“Oh, probably,” says Aimee and Nick lets her take the baby. He can feel the wine settling pleasantly in his stomach, mixing with the exhaustion of travel. It’s making him sleepy and he slides down until he can rest his head on the arm of the sofa. Aimee raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Don’t say ‘I told you so’,” he mumbles. 

“I was just going to offer you a blanket,” she counters but she’s smug. Rolling his eyes, he accepts the throw and spreads it over his legs. It only takes a few minutes until he’s properly asleep, dead to the world. 

 

It’s dark when he wakes up and his head’s fuzzy in that way that happens when you sleep too long. His neck aches from the unusual angle and his arm’s dead. Aimee’s disappeared

He rubs at his face as he gets up and shakes his dead arm, following his nose to the kitchen. The radio’s on low and Aimee’s chopping veg at the counter, Sunday laying in her bouncy chair and the dogs laying on either side of her. 

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” she says when she notices Nick in the doorway. “You slept a long time. Also, your phone’s gone off multiple times.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah, I’m actually surprised it didn’t wake you. I brought it in here so you could sleep.” She points to the opposite counter and he scoops up his phone, clicking the home button to show the screen. 

Most of the texts are from Colin, growing increasingly more agitated. He’s got three missed calls from him as well. Nick dials back and Colin picks up on the first ring. 

“Hey love,” Nick says, smiling. “Everything alright?” 

“I should be asking you that,” Colin answers after a second. “Where the fuck have you been?”

Nick blinks. “Erm… sorry? I went to visit Aimee and crashed.” 

“We were supposed to get takeaway.” 

“I didn’t mean to sleep so long.” 

“I’ve been trying to contact you for ages.” 

“What do you want me to say, Colin? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but I did. I’ll be home in a few minutes. No harm, no foul, yeah?” 

Colin’s quiet for a few breaths. “Fine, then. See you in a few minutes.” 

He hangs up before Nick can respond, and it takes Nick a minute to drop his phone. Aimee gives him a curious look. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, I think. He’s just being a little short, which is unusual.” 

“Mm, he probably just missed you.” 

“Yeah, suppose,” Nick murmurs. He heaves a sigh and fixes a smile on his face, crossing the room to give Aimee a hug. “Guess I should go, then. See you later, love.” 

“Bye, Grimmy!” Aimee calls as he kisses Sunday’s forehead and collects his things. He clips on the dogs’ leads and closes the door carefully behind him. 

Colin’s not frowning when Nick gets in, but he’s close. Nick ignores this, lets the dogs loose, and leans in for a kiss. 

“Hello,” he says and Colin tilts his head the slightest bit so Nick’s lips land on his cheek. “It’s good to see you.” 

“Welcome back.” 

“Did you miss me?” 

“I was worried about you. I didn’t have any idea where you’d gone.” 

Nick raises an eyebrow and leans back the slightest bit. “You’re very upset about this.” 

“Just couldn’t wait to see you,” Colin says, shrugging. 

“What a welcome you’re giving,” Nick tells him dryly. “Being a real gentleman there.” 

“You don’t have to be cheeky.” 

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to be rude. I don’t even know why you’re being stroppy, but don’t take it out on me when I’ve just come home.” 

He leaves Colin in the kitchen and goes into the bedroom, stares at his suitcase and sighs. Tipping it onto its side, he starts pulling out his clothes to unpack. It takes a few minutes but Colin eventually decides to follow him in.

“LIsten, I don’t want to argue--” he starts, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“Then be quiet,” Nick snaps, tiredness pulling on his body. He just wants to go back to sleep, maybe eat something first, and curl up with his boyfriend. Colin’s all stiff; Nick doesn’t foresee any cuddling happening. 

Gathering up his toiletries, he goes to the bathroom and takes his time setting out each one neatly on the edge. 

He makes sure the labels are faced outwards so he knows what product is what, then he organizes them from tallest bottle to smallest. Realising that it’ll fuck with his head, he rearranges them so all the hair products are grouped together and then all the body products. He nudges them all so they’re facing the right way again. 

Colin’s still on the bed when Nick walks out, still stiff and unyielding. Nick doesn’t have the energy to deal with any of that right now. 

“I’m going to eat something,” he says lowly, carefully. “And then I’m going to bed. I’m tired and I have work in the morning. You’re welcome to join me, you just can’t be a statue all night.” 

He watches Colin blink twice and then nod his head. 

“I’m going back to mine tonight. I’ve got things I need to do before tomorrow.” 

It’s brusque and makes Nick’s heart break the tiniest bit. Still, he doesn’t argue, just accepts the kiss Colin presses to his cheek dully. When the door’s closed, he collapses on the sofa and works up the energy to call in an order.

Getting out of bed the next morning is absolute torture but he manages to make it with three minutes to spare. It’s a modern miracle. 

Thankfully, the jetlag doesn’t hit until about thirty minutes from the end of the show which means he’s only yawns fifteen times. Fiona teases him about it anyway. 

“You try going halfway across the world and coming in the next day,” he mumbles, shoving her chair so she knocks into the wall. She laughs. 

“No one _forced_ you to do that, Grim. It’s your own stupidity.” 

He pulls a face and she pulls one back. Their day’s almost done, just a few songs before they sign off and he can go back to bed. Sleeping at weird time’s a bad choice but he can’t help it; he feels like he’s moving through mud. Maybe he’ll sneak Pig and Stinky up on the bed so they can sleep too. 

They’re napping in the sunshine when Nick gets home, don’t even glance up when he comes into the room, so he lets them be. Stripping down to his pants, he climbs back into bed with a contented sigh. It’s a bad idea, but he’s asleep in minutes. 

The shadows are weird when he wakes up. It’s later than he wanted it to be and he’s suddenly, ravenously hungry. He nicks a yoghurt from the refrigerator and eats it standing at the counter, scraping every last bit from the cup. 

He feels gross and off-kilter, thrown by his travel and by Colin’s strange behaviour. A shower’s probably a good step but he’s not sure if it’s worth it so late in the day. He can’t shake the fog, so he gives in and goes to wash. 

He doesn’t jump when the door opens ten minutes later and his boyfriend slips in with him, pressing apologetic kisses to the nape of his neck. He just takes in a deep breath and holds it for a few seconds. Letting it out, he turns around to face Colin. 

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Colin replies, a smile crinkling the skin by his eyes. He leans forward and dusts a kiss over Nick’s cheekbones, light enough to send shivers down Nick’s spine despite the warm water. 

“I’m still mad at you,” Nick tells him primly, and Colin just laughs, kissing him fully. It’s warm and wet and drugging enough to make Nick’s head spin. 

“Are we going to talk about it?” he asks when they’re done with the shower, drying each other off and pulling on clothes. Colin pauses, chewing on his lip. 

“What’s to talk about?” 

There’s a feeling of deja vu creeping across Nick’s body, a sad kind that he doesn’t want to revisit ever. He swallows it down, shakes it off. Colin is not Louis, is the farthest thing from Louis, and this is just a tiny bump in the scheme of things. 

Everything’s going to be fine.

 

He’s too caught up in his own thoughts to register the song that’s playing before it’s too late. Adele’s voice filters through the speakers of his car, freezing him in place for a second. 

“Why’d you pick this song?” Nick asks, turning his head briefly towards the passenger’s side. Colin shrugs. 

“Thought you liked it. She dedicated it to you at the concert, didn’t she? It was ‘Make You Feel My Love,’ right?” 

“Yeah,” Nick says, a little hoarsely. “I liked it.” 

“I still can’t believe she did that, in front of all of the crowd,” Colin mutters with a smile, nudging Nick’s shoulder. “The song that made her famous and she dedicated it to you.” 

Nick can only nod. She had done it because the song had meant so much to them, back at the beginning. Her and Nick, and then Louis too when Louis had found it. The first time he’d heard the song, him and Adele had been tipsy and dreaming wildly together, two northerners trying to make it big. She put on the old record and sung to it as the sun rose, and Nick had known then that everything would work out ookay. 

And then later, it had been Louis’ audition song and it was _theirs_ in a way, something that bound them together. Adele knew it, even though she had fallen out of touch with them, even though they’d fallen out of touch with each other. 

“Nick?” Colin asks, probably not for the first time. Nick blinks out of his thoughts, shaking his head slightly. 

“Hm?” 

“You zoned out there, pet. Are you tired? Do you want me to drive instead?” 

“No, I’m fine. Just, erm. Thinking.” 

“Alright,” Colin says, ceeding the point. Nick gives him a tiny smile and focuses back on the road. The song switches, Nick lets out a sigh, letting the moment fade from his memory, and scratches at the triangle tattoo on his arm.

 

Of all the members of One Direction, Niall’s the one Nick could never figure out. The rest of the boys were pretty straightforward, even Harry who likes to think he’s not, but Niall always seemed a bit closed off. It’s gotten worse since… everything; he’s polite but nothing more. 

Nick’s not really looking forward to his interview for a myriad of reasons. He contemplated calling in sick, but that seems too extreme, even for him. Tapping his fingers on his coffee mug, he stares at the chair opposite of him until his eyes nearly cross. 

Niall arrives quietly, with a few bodyguards but that’s it. There aren’t any personal assistants or anything floating around him like some of the other celebrities, just him shaking everyone’s hand in the office and giving Nick a not-quite-sincere smile. 

He turns on the charm when the interview starts, laughing heartily at every funny thing Nick says and bantering easily. It’s honestly the best type of interview and it makes him sad that Niall’s not a better mate. 

“So, how’ve you been?” he asks during a song break. Niall’s slumped a little in his chair, spinning it with a toe. “With the whole breakup, I mean.” 

“Hiatus,” Niall corrects. “And I’m fine. Obviously.” 

Nick winces internally. “Have you seen any of the other boys? How are they?” 

“You talk to Harry more than I do, probably.” 

“Yes, well. How about Liam. He’s got a baby now, yeah?” 

“Mmhm, Bear. Cute little lad.” 

“And of course, um. There’s Freddie… and Louis.” 

Niall’s eyes go sharp, careful, like he’s not sure what Nick knows. 

“They’re good,” Niall allows, still surveying him. “Louis is back with Eleanor now, and they’re doing really well. He sees Freddie when he can. Looks just like him, honestly. Spitting image.” 

“So sweet.” Nick hadn’t known Louis and Eleanor had gotten back together; he knew they had dated for a few years after the divorce but it had been a pretty bad break up, from what Harry had told Nick. Not that Nick had asked about it. 

Those two were good together. Nick and Colin are good together. There’s no reason Nick should have these weird emotions dragged back into his life. Everyone was _happy,_ dammit. 

 

Colin’s asleep when Harry texts, sprawled out on the sofa with his feet tucked under Nick’s thighs. Nick’s almost asleep himself but he can’t help checking his phone when it lights up with a notification. 

_**louis is releasing a new song soon** _

**_it’s really good_ **

Nick hits the call button instead of texting back. “Why are you telling me that, H?”

“Because it’s really good,” says Harry. “You need to know.”

“I really don’t,” says Nick. “Louis isn’t a part of my life anymore.”

“Yeah, but he was. And I know you’d be mad at me if I didn’t tell you first.”

“Maybe,” Nick allows. He hesitates, running his fingernail along the fabric of the armrest. “It’s good?” 

“Yeah. It’s a love song this time. Well, sort-of. A love-hate song. Bebe Rexha’s the feature.” 

“Oh.”

Harry goes on like he can’t help himself, rattling along in that slow, nervous way he does when he doesn’t know what to say. “It’s different from what everyone else is doing. More dance-y. Wouldn’t be out of place in a club.” 

“Christ,” Nick says, his head spinning a tiny, tiny bit. “Am I going to hear it all summer, then?” 

“Probably.” 

“He couldn’t have released like pop-punk or rock or something that’s a bit harder to grind to?” 

Harry laughs but there’s an unsure edge to it. “He never does what we expect him to do, that one.” 

“Mmm.” 

Colin snuffles in his sleep, shifting a little so he’s more on his back. Nick looks down at him, down the long lines of his body, the stubble around his chin, the arm thrown up above his head, and his heart twists in a weird way. He’s not sure if it’s good or not, doesn’t know what he’s feeling. 

“Grim?” 

“Is it… is it about me?” He asks, almost without thinking, still staring at Colin’s face. 

“Nick.”

“I just want to know. To prepare myself, like.” 

Harry’s silent for so long Nick worries he’s fallen asleep or wandered off. It’s unnerving and he doesn’t quite know what the silence means. 

“Harry?”

“I don’t think he can ever write anything that’s not about you, at least a little bit.”

Nick squeezes his eyes shut, a weird feeling caught in the back of his throat now.

“Shit. I’m not drunk enough for this.”

“You’re not drunk at all.” 

“Exactly. Could do with a bottle of wine or summat. Do you think… do you think it’ll ever go away?” 

“What will?” Harry asks gently and Nick inexplicably feels like a child, like he’s six again with no idea how the world works. 

“This. All this shit, all the remnants of our fucked-up relationship. God, it’s like a ghost that won’t leave me the fuck alone. It’s been years, Harry. Years.” 

Harry’s quiet again, breathing quietly over the phone. It makes the pit in Nick’s stomach heavier, more sickening. 

“I think it will. You’ve just got to ride it out.” 

“God,” Nick says on a hiccup. “Feelings are the fucking worst.” 

“Yeah, they are.” 

“I’m ready to be a robot. Like those ones in _Doctor Who_ or whatever.” 

Harry laughs a little, and so does Nick. It feels like a sigh of relief, like a reminder that things will be better. It’s melancholy, this, and he’ll be better in the morning light. 

 

Pixie drags him out on Friday night, refusing to listen to his complaints about being tired. 

“You’re turning into an old man, Grim, and we can’t have _that._ C’mon, the night is still young and so are we.” 

“How dare you quote Nicki Minaj to me,” Nick says, poking her in the side. “You know she’s my weakness.” 

“Yes, along with Beyonce, Britney Spears, Frank Ocean--” She ticks them all off on her fingers until Nick groans loudly. 

“Yes, yes, we get it. Fine, I’ll go out with you.” 

“Put on something nice. You may have a boyfriend but you’re not dead,” she tells him and pushes him towards his wardrobe. “Speaking of, where is Colin?” 

“Ah, working late. He’s finishing up a big account or summat and pulling extra hours.” 

“Oh? How’s that been?” 

“Fine,” Nick says, shrugging into a patterned shirt. “I don’t love it, obviously, but we’re adults and aren’t clingy.” 

“You’re too cool to be clingy,” Pixie teases and fixes her lipstick in the mirror. “It’s beneath you.” 

He rolls his eyes and leans over her shoulder to prod at his hair. It’s nearly flat, so he smooths some product through it and brushes it to its neatly coiffed glory. 

“There,” he says, satisfied. Pixie smacks her lips together, pats Pig and Stinky on the head, and pulls him merrily out the door. 

It really has been too long since he’s done this. There’s something exhilarating about being out with friends, drinking like they’re in uni and reckless again. He matches Pixie shot for shot and doesn’t think about the consequences, damn the morning. They dance together, laughing at the top of their lungs, and she crawls into bed with him sometime as the sun peeks over the horizon. 

 

The morning is not as kind as the night was. Nick’s got a headache approximately the size of Yorkshire, and his mouth feels like something furry died in it. 

“Oh, god,” Pixie moans from her side of the bed. “I think I’m going to be sick.” 

“Not on the bed,” he says weakly as his own stomach turns. “God, alright. I’ll do us a fry-up, yeah?” 

“And some strong coffee,” she calls from the toilet. It’s absolute murder gathering everything together and the smell of bacon frying nearly makes him vomit into the rubbish bin, but he manages to hold himself together. The first sip of coffee’s like magic, though, waking him up and cutting through the godawful headache. 

Pixie stumbles in when he’s tipping the bacon onto the plate, looking a little worse for the wear but not too bad. She pours herself some coffee too and settles down at the table with a huff. 

“God, this is the worst. Why do I drink, Grimmy? It never goes well.” 

“This is all your fault. You’re the one who convinced me to go out.” 

“Fight me harder next time. Please, for the sake of my head.” 

Nick laughs, handing her a plate. “You’re very pitiful this morning, Pix.” 

“I’m hungover and miserable.” 

“Take another drink of your coffee, love, and eat some breakfast.” 

“Ugh,” she says, and promptly swallows down three rashers in a blink of an eye. Nick snorts and eats his own eggs. The meal’s horribly not in his diet, but he can’t quite bring himself to care right now. He’ll do an extra mile at the gym later. 

“How are you doing, Nick?” Pixie says, contemplative-like. 

“I thought we already established that we were hungover and miserable.” 

“I mean, like _really_ doing. Emotionally, or whatever.” 

Pig noses over and sits at his feet, clearly asking for attention. He scratches absentmindedly at her ears, smiling at the thump of her tail. “Erm… fine?” Pixie waves her hand for more. “A bit exhausted, but I’m to go on holiday soon, so that should be fixed.” 

“How are you going with Colin?” 

He pushes a bit of egg around his plate. “It’s great. Really lovely, really normal. I’ve been thinking about getting another tattoo.” 

Pixie’s distracted by that, as he knew she would be. “Ooh, where?” 

“Eh, my arm, maybe?” It would cover up his triangle tattoo, but maybe that was alright. Maybe it was time to get the bloody thing off. “Something big.” 

“Sounds badass.” 

“Suppose it’ll make me more laddy?” he teases and she laughs, waving a hand in the air. 

“Oh, of course.” 

It’s only when Pixie’s shrugging her jacket on at the end of the morning that she goes serious again, catching Nick’s arm. 

“Love you, Grim,” she says quietly. “You’d tell me if you weren’t happy, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he tells her and kisses the side of her head. “Course I would.” 

 

Nick had always thought having a song written about him would be nice, romantic, but it’s the opposite. It’s awkward and a little uncomfortable, and they’re both going to deny up and down that it’s not about them. Or, Nick is at least. “Back to You” isn’t the most flattering record of their marriage, but he can hear the truth in the song. 

God, if this is how Louis felt about it all, they should’ve divorced ages and ages ago. Still, Nick listens to it on repeat like some sort of masochist. 

To top it off, Louis is on the show on Monday morning talking about it. Nick’s not quite sure how Louis’ publicist got him to sign off on _that_ , but he did and now Nick gets to talk about the stupid song live to the nation at eight fucking o’clock in the morning. It’s a fucking nightmare. 

“It’s a fucking nightmare,” he whines to Aimee, who is a very sympathetic friend. She makes the same kind of soothing noise she makes when Sunday’s being fussy and pats him on the shoulder.

“Poor Grimmers.” He might be playing the victim card a little too heavily in her presence, but she’s really the only one he can talk to about Louis. “You’ve been broken up for years. You’re in a relationship with Colin and Louis is with Eleanor.” 

“I know,” he says morosely, making a face at Sunday. “It’s still awful.” 

“The song might not even be about you. It could be about Danielle, or Eleanor, or just a concept.” 

Nick just sighs. That’s true, but Nick knows it’s not right. It’s too angry, too much about fucked up relationships to be about anyone else. Is that narcissism? 

“Am I a narcissist?” 

Aimee laughs. “Yes, darling. Insufferably so.” 

“Oi!” 

“You asked.” 

Sunday stares at him intently for a second, eyebrows pulled together, and then her mouth pulls into a wide smile. Nick coos at her for a second; he can’t help it whenever she grins, and blows a raspberry on her cheek. 

“Your daughter’s incredible,” he says, just a bit wistfully. “Don’t know where she got that from, with parents like you and Ian, but--”

“Hey,” Aimee says, poking him in the side. “I’m incredible. Ian’s alright, but I’m fucking incredible. I have to be, putting up with you.” 

He sticks his tongue out at her, making all three of them giggle. 

“What does Colin think of all this?” 

Nick blinks. “All of what?” 

“You. Louis. The song that’s not about you but about you. What’s his take on it?” 

“Oh. I, erm, haven’t really told him about it.” 

Aimee raises an eyebrow. “Nicholas.” 

“He knows about Louis, obviously. I told him that straightaway, and he knew from the papers anyway. But he thinks it’s dead and done. Cos it is, really. There’s just a few… bumps.” 

“You should talk to him about it.” 

Nick wrinkles his nose. “I don’t want to. It’s long past, that relationship, and I don’t want to think about it.” 

Aimee’s quiet for a few seconds, fixing Sunday’s fine baby hair and frowning. Nick’s got a weird pit at the bottom of his stomach, something like dread, even though he’s done nothing wrong. 

“Do you think that maybe-- do you think it’s not long past? And that’s why you’re still bothered by this?” 

“I think you’d be bothered if your ex-husband wrote a song about you and it played over national radio,” he says cooly. “Not to mention if you had to interview him about it.” 

“Yeah, that’s pretty shitty,” she admits. “But I’m talking about everything else. You’re still pining over him, Nick.”

“I am not.” 

“You are, a bit.” 

“I’m the one who sent the fucking divorce papers, remember? I was the one that wanted out.” 

“Doesn’t mean you stopped loving him.” 

They stare each other down for a few seconds, Aimee’s eyes wide and innocent, Nick’s narrow. It’s tense in a way that it’s never really been between them, in a way that Nick doesn’t particularly want to examine. He hates being angry at his friends. 

“Like I said, that part of my life is dead and over.” 

Aimee holds her hands up in surrender. “Fine. Whatever you say.” 

Sunday fusses so Nick hands her off to Aimee to be fed or consoled, whichever one, and he wanders off in the kitchen to find something to eat. Aimee doesn’t stay long after that, as it’s nearing the baby’s bedtime, and she says goodbye with a kiss to Nick’s cheek. 

“Love you,” she says softly, warmly. He squeezes her shoulder. 

“Love you too, babe.” 

She closes the door and Colin opens it an hour later, smiling and friendly and making Nick’s heart hurt for reasons he doesn’t understand. 

 

Louis is scowling when he comes into the BBC. Nick knew he wouldn’t be happy getting up so early, but this is a little surly, even for him. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong, doesn’t even look at Louis straight on while he does his radio spiel. He can’t risk his voice breaking on air, not when his ex-husband is there looking petulant and pissed off and prickly. 

“And now, we’ve got Tina with the news and after that, Louis Tomlinson is on the show to premiere his new song. Dead exciting, that. Are you excited, Fiona?” 

“Terribly,” she drawls, rolling her eyes. “Can’t wait.” 

“Nice enthusiasm. Right, that’s enough about Louis. Tina, your turn.” 

Tina starts with her bit and Nick darts up from his chair to make a cup of coffee, pushing past Louis. 

“Oi,” Louis says. 

“You’re late,” Nick replies, doctoring up his drink. “Worryingly so.”

“Am I ever anything else?” snaps Louis and Nick turns his head to see Louis’ arms crossed across his front. 

“It’s professional, though. You’re meant to be on time.” 

“Oh, fuck off. I was up late last night.” 

“Horrible,” Nick says. “You might want to cheer up before Tina’s done, though. We can’t have a grumpy pop star on the radio. it’s bad for business.” 

He’s on his way out when Louis stops him. 

“Nick, wait. I didn’t mean-- look, I’m sorry. I’m just fucking exhausted. I’ll behave, promise.” He sounds tired and apologetic, his hair sticking up from where he’s run his hands through it. He’s got bags under his eyes too, like it’s not the only late night he’s had recently. 

“There’s tea in the cupboard, if you need it,” Nick says softly. “Help yourself.” 

“Actually, is it alright if I nick some coffee?” 

Nick stares at him for a moment, clutching his own cup as tightly as he can. “You don’t… you don’t like coffee.” 

Louis laughs a little, pushing a hand through his hair again. “I do. I started drinking it when the jetlag got awful and now I just like it, I guess.” 

“You hated coffee. _Hated_ it.” 

“Yeah, well. People change.” 

The silence stretches on for a moment, wrapping around them and making everything feel awkward. Nick’s not sure why it’s bothering him so much, this little tiny thing, but it was something he _knew_ to be true about Louis and it’s not true anymore. 

“The, uh. The mugs are in the cabinet over the sink. Help yourself to anything. Show starts in a minute.” 

Louis drops into the chair opposite Nick a few seconds before it’s too late, hands wrapped around a BBC cup and feet tapping on the ground. He’s almost sick with nerves, Nick can tell. It’s not a normal thing to see Louis so uneasy. 

He pushes it out of his mind and starts talking instead, introducing Louis and playing the song for the first time. Louis is pale at this point, knee bouncing up and down. 

“What if everyone hates it,” he says, almost to himself. Nick frowns at him. 

“They’re not going to. It’s a good song.” 

The knee stops. “You think so?” 

“Yeah,” Nick says, throat suddenly dry. “I do.” 

Louis chin jerks in a sharp nod. “Thank you. I-- thank you. That means a lot, from you.” 

Nick thinks about asking _Is it about me_ over and over, until it’s nearly the only words in his brain. “You’re welcome.” _Is it about me._

“I was worried you’d hate it.” 

“Why would I do that? It’s good.” 

“Dunno.” Louis shrugs a tiny bit, thumbing at a coffee stain on the mug. “Figured if you hate me, you’d hate anything I do too.” 

Nick tips his head to the side, surprised. This is not the place for this conversation, even when the room’s empty at the moment, but he can’t help himself. 

“I don’t-- I don’t hate you. Not at all.” 

Louis is taken aback at this, blinking at him. “What?” 

“I don’t hate you.” 

“But you…” He shakes his head like he’s getting rid of a thought and scrubs at his eyes. “I just assumed you did. Cos of all the baby stuff and the fucking divorce scandal and shit.” 

“I don’t.” 

Louis shakes his head again, but there’s a little smile on his lips. It’s tiny, but it’s there, and it’s enough to make Nick smile too. 

Tina sits just as Nick’s phone lights up with a notification. She catches sight of the name and waggles her eyebrows. 

“How’s Colin doing?” 

“What? Oh, yeah. He’s fine. He might get a promotion.” 

“Ooh, fancy,” she says. “A posh job for a posh boyfriend.” 

Nick rolls his eyes and clicks his phone off, tossing it onto the desk. Louis is looking at him when he looks up, a blank expression on his face but he’s definitely looking. Nick frowns at him for a moment. 

“I didn’t know you were dating,” Louis says finally, taking a sip of his coffee. “What’s his name?” 

“Uh, Colin.” 

There’s a weird light in Louis’ eyes, one that Nick can’t quite place. “Is he nice?” 

“Yeah, of course. He’s… good.” 

“Just ‘good’, Grim? You’re practically engaged to the bloke, and all you can come up with is _good?_ ” Tina protests, organizing her notes. She doesn’t see him wince, or Louis tense the tiniest bit. 

“He’s dead sexy,” Nick shoots back. “Better?” 

“Marginally,” she says as Fiona comes in and the song starts to fade out. “It’s better than ‘good’, for sure.” 

“Are you done, or do I need to fetch a thesaurus?” 

She laughs, throwing him a wink, but there’s nothing he can say to her because it’s time for him to talk, because Louis is sitting there across the desk with his expression still blank, and Nick honestly doesn’t know what’s going on with anyone right now. 

 

“Do you have any suggestions for a song?” Nick asks later in the morning. Louis thinks for a minute and then smiles, leaning towards the mic. 

“Is it alright if it’s a bit of an slower one? Not too slow, but not a banger either.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“Um, ‘Make You Feel My Love’ by Adele? It’s, erm, one of my favourites.” He looks straight at Nick when he asks, and Nick prays his face doesn’t give away his emotions. Of course it’s that stupid bloody song. 

“Whatever you like,” he says. “It’s a brilliant song.” 

“Yeah,” says Louis. “One of my favourites. Means a lot to me, actually.” 

“That’s nice,” manages Nick. _Is it about me is the song about me has it always been about me?_ “Here it is… ‘Make You Feel My Love’ by Adele.” 

They don’t talk through the entirety of the song, just let it play on the radio as they sit on opposite sides of the desk, silent. 

 

The Kardashians are on and Nick begs Colin to let him watch, promises that Colin can watch his boring French films after if Nick can watch trash telly. 

“I thought you didn’t like the Kardashians since one of them dated Harry.” 

“I don’t,” Nick says with a dark sort of glee. “But the drama is _incredible,_ Colin. Absolutely fucking fantastic.” 

Colin laughs at him, but it’s a gentle sort of laugh, and he kisses Nick to make up for it. Unsurprisingly, it turns into a snogging session like they’re sixteen again, but neither of them can quite care enough to mind. 

“God,” Colin gasps after a minute. “You’re so ridiculous, you know.” 

“I know,” Nick replies, mouthing at his neck. “Trust me, I’m aware.” 

Colin laughs again and runs his hands down Nick’s side, making him twitch. “The most-- was that the door?” 

“What?” Nick asks, tugging on Colin’s shirt. 

“I’m sure I heard someone knocking.” 

“It was probably the dogs being annoying or summat.” 

“No, I’m positive it was the door. Hold on.” 

Nick sighs loudly in protest when Colin jumps up and darts to the entryway, pulling the door open. There’s no one there, but he bends to pick something up. 

“It’s a box,” he says, shaking it gently. It makes a rolling sort of noise. “Who just drops off a box at our doorstep? Did you order anything?” 

“No,” says Nick, pushing himself up to a seated position. “Did you?” 

“Not that I remember. Could one of our friends have sent it?” 

“I don’t know, just open it.” 

A shadow of a frown crosses over Colin’s face but he runs a key down the tape in the centre anyway, pulling the sides apart. “It’s clothes,” he says, pulling out a few shirts and some jumpers. “What the fuck?” 

Nick looks at them closer and frowns. “Wait, those are mine.” 

“What? I’ve never seen these before.” 

“No, they’re mine from a long time ago. Years, I’d reckon.” Colin shakes out a few and Nick’s heart stops at the sight of a raggedy one. “That’s my favourite sweater. And that’s my _Team Grimmy_ shirt, the one I thought I’d lost years ago. I haven’t seen them since--” he cuts himself off and presses his hand to his mouth. 

These weren’t just his favourites, they were Louis’ too. Nick’d bet anything Louis took them on tour with him ages ago and never give them back. 

“There’s some pictures too, and a few CD’s. Bands, mostly, but there’s one that’s unmar-- hey, is that you in this picture?” Colin turns around the frame and Nick’s heart jumps. Sure enough, that’s him with Phoebe or Daisy on his lap and the other one snuggled up by his side. All three of them are in pajamas, pulling silly faces. 

He can’t remember who is who now. The thought makes him sad. 

“Yeah, that’s me. I think my mum must have sent this and forgot my address. It’s all old things of mine; she must be cleaning house and found them or summat.” He’s babbling, he knows he is, but he can’t help it. 

He wants to know what’s on that flash drive. He wants to know why Louis dropped these off today instead of years ago. He wants to know why he’s about to cry at the sight of old clothes and old pictures. He wants to know when all this is going to end. 

Colin puts away most of the clothes but Nick keeps one of the pictures, another one with Louis’ sisters. Louis is in it too, mostly out of the frame because he’d fallen out of his chair at a joke Nick had told. Nick’s grinning too, in a proud sort of way, and the photo’s just a bit blurry. It was one of Nick’s favourite pictures. He’d hung it up on the wall but hadn’t noticed Louis had even taken it at all. 

There’s a tiny scrap of paper stuck in the cover of the blank CD. It’s just _I’m sorry_ and nothing else, in familiar chicken scratch. 

Fucking hell. 

 

He waits for Colin to go to bed, and then he waits a week more, and then waits until he’s got an empty house and enough wine to think it’s a good idea. He fishes out the blank disk and pushes it into his computer, pouring himself another glass.

He doesn’t know what to expect and it makes him anxious, makes his finger twitch against the stem of his glass and his chest feel all tight. 

The first track is quiet. There’s a creaking sound in the background before Louis’ voice filters softly through. He sounds young and tired, and Nick closes his eyes against it. 

_Hiya Nick. It’s day three of tour and I’m already dead bored. Who knew singing every night could be boring? But it is cos we’re in America and it’s a big country and there’s nothing to do on this stupid bus except play games and sleep, and I…. I miss you._

_This feels less stupid than writing you letters or emails. Dunno if I’ll actually give this to you but I figured I would talk to you like this whenever I felt lonely. You’re a good sport for letting me do this. The best person, really._

There’s a crash on the tape, one that makes Louis swear, and Nick can hear someone in the distance yelling-- Harry maybe, or Zayn. 

_It’s my turn on the Xbox and I said I’d kick Niall’s arse so I’ve got to go or I’ll forfeit. Probably won’t do this again, but I dunno, so erm. Bye, love you loads._

There’s a click, and then the emptiness that comes in between tracks, and Nick’s heart feels like it’s being squeezed. God, Louis. 

The next track is a song, Louis and a keyboard, it sounds like. He’s hesitantly pressing chords and humming, like he’s got a song in his head. Nick doesn’t recognize it. Eventually, Louis starts singing quietly. It’s a lot of _na-na-nas_ as a stand in but there’s the beginning of a refrain. It’s catchy. 

_“Whatcha working on?”_ Liam asks and Louis hits a wrong key on the keyboard, like he’s startled.

_“Um. Nothing?”_

_“Is that lyrics?”_

_“Yeah._ ” Louis sounds sheepish and Nick can picture him rubbing at his chin. _“Just, um. Something I’ve been working on._ _It’s not done yet.”_

_“Lemme hear it, then.”_

_“Um. Okay. Uh--”_ He presses the keys again, still quiet. _“I’m sorry if I say I need ya. I don’t care, I’m not scared of love. When I’m not with you I’m weaker… that’s all I have.”_

_“It’s good! Is that it?”_

_“For now, yeah. I can’t think of what to add to it.”_

_“Here, let me help. You could add--”_

Nick hits the skip button. He can’t stand hearing Louis and Liam write this, can’t stand hearing Louis sound so vulnerable writing a song that Nick recognizes himself in. He can’t-- he can’t do that now. Maybe not ever. 

The rest of the CD’s a mix of the same thing. There’s more letters, more half-finished songs that are about him, in some way. 

Nick drinks and drinks and closes his eyes against the prickling and thinks _how did it go so wrong_ over and over.

 

There were so many reasons he sent those divorce papers; real, good reasons that made sense. He was miserable and sad and heartbroken, tired of a husband who was never home. But now, listening to Louis pour his heart out on a CD, he’d give anything in the world to be married to him again. As fucked up as it seems, it’s true. 

He can’t sleep that night thinking about it. Colin’s snoring next to him and Nick can’t seem to get his mind to settle. It just runs through his and Louis’ relationship from start to finish, from finish to start, and back again. The songs he’d listened to until they were burned in his brain play too. 

Where did it go wrong? That was his husband, where did it go wrong? God, why did it have to be him? 

It’s nearly dawn when Nick realizes he doesn’t mean that last bit, realizes that he wouldn’t have picked anyone else. 

He _can’t_ pick anyone else. 

 

On this list of stupidest things he’s ever done, this is certainly at the very top. The absolutely dumbest thing he could ever possibly do, but he’s got nothing left to lose. 

Rita’s playing in the variety show that night, so he begs to be in her entourage. She brings him along with a fond smile and a wave of the hand, laughing when he fidgets through all the pre-show chaos. 

He sits in crowd during the performances and barely breathes the whole time Louis is on stage. He’s wonderful and beautiful, lighting up the stage in the way only he can. Nick feels a bit sick watching him. God, everything in him is topsy turvy. 

 

The security guard stops him when he tries to get backstage again, but Nick just flashes his press badge and they begrudgingly let him through. It’s chaos again, assistants running everywhere and singers hanging out in doorways. There are more people than he thought there would be and he realizes he hasn’t the faintest idea where to find Louis. 

He thinks about asking one of the people running by, but they all look frazzled and he’s not too keen to get snapped at. Seeing Niall, he lets out a sigh of relief. 

“Oi, blondie,” he yells, even though Niall’s hair isn’t blond and hasn’t been for a while. “Where’s your bandmate.” 

Niall looks at him cooly for a second, and there’s a heartbeat when Nick’s suddenly terrified Niall won’t help him. But Niall just studies him with a curious sort of expression and points over his shoulder. 

“Three doors down. On the left.” 

“Thanks, mate.” 

“Grimshaw,” he calls and Nick cranes his head back to look at him. “Don’t fuck him up. Not again.” 

Nick’s heart feels tight again, feels like he can’t breathe again. “I won’t.” 

Niall nods, satisfied, and Nick walks as quickly as he can down the hall. 

It takes him a full minute to work up the courage to knock on the door. There’s people whirling behind him but he stays still at the door, his hands balled into fists and his heart hammering too fast. 

But he does, eventually, and Louis pulls it open. They both freeze, staring at each other. Louis is still shaking with adrenaline, his hair’s slicked down with sweat and he’s soft and sharp and so so lovely. He looks like he can’t decide on an emotion; anger and fear and happiness and longing flicker across his face almost too fast for Nick to see before settling on careful curiosity. 

“What are you doing here?” Louis asks, stepping back so Nick can come into the empty room and closing the door behind him. He leans on it, seemingly relaxed, but Nick can see the tenseness in his shoulders. 

“Got your box,” he says around the lump in his throat. Louis jumps a tiny bit, bites his lip, and just looks at him. “Listened to the CD.” 

“That was stupid of me,” Louis says after a beat. “I shouldn’t have done it.” 

He looks so desperate and lost and apologetic and so worried that Nick can't help it. He leans forward and kisses him, presses him up against the door and _God_ it's everything like he'd remembered and nothing like he'd remembered all at once. Cause Louis is still Louis but he's older and there's stubble on his chin and his stomach's a little flatter and he's _not kissing him back._

Nick steps back. His cheeks are _hothothot_ and fuck, this was the stupidest idea he’s ever had. Fuck, he’s an idiot, a fucking idiot, and he’s gone and fucked everything up again. He screws his eyes shut and buries his face in his hands, mumbling an apology.

He flinches when he feels Louis come near, trying as hard as he can not to lean into the touch when Louis wraps a hand around his wrist, pulls his hand away so they can see each other. 

“You’ve got a boyfriend,” he says. Nick laughs a desperate kind of laugh and shakes his head. 

“Not anymore.” 

Louis’ face falls and his hand drops away from Nick’s wrist and Nick’s skin burns at the lack of touch. He watches Louis’ eyes get steely. 

“But I’ve got a girlfriend,” Louis says quietly, breaking everything in Nick. Slipping away, Louis fumbles for the door handle and pulls it open enough for him to slip out. 

Nick doesn't know what to do with himself but fall apart and maybe cry. Fate has it out for them, he thinks, but he’s going to fight it one last time. "But I'm your husband."

Louis turns and gives him a sad, sad look, already mostly out the door. "But not anymore."

 

Halfway through the next day and yet another bottle of wine, he decides he’s can’t wait forever, he can’t not _know._ It’s not fair, it’s _not._

He broke up with his lovely, sweet, slightly boring boyfriend for Louis. Colin had been shocked but had taken it gracefully, which only made Nick feel more like a fucking idiot. He gambled everything on Louis and lost. It’s not _fair._

_what did you give me that cd for if you didn't want to try_ he texts Louis, and after he sends it he lobs it halfway across the room in a fit of terror. 

Now that he’s done it, he doesn’t want to know the answer. He doesn’t want to hear Louis make excuses for the newest thing they’d done to hurt each other. He turns on the telly instead, as loud as it can go, and gathers Pig and Stinky up for a long, long cuddle. 

 

It’s getting dark before he fetches his phone, the shadows long and weird in the room. Nick feels weird, a bit unbalanced, like his feelings had been put in a bottle and shaken up all up. It’s really out of necessity that he picks up his phone; he’s hungry and doesn’t particularly want to cook. 

He’s got a few notifications sitting on the screen, but it’s the reply from Louis that makes him nearly drop his phone. 

_**sorry**_ , it says, and nothing else. Nick’s suddenly very angry and very tired all wrapped into one. He’s tired of all this, angry at Louis for making his life miserable no matter how hard he tries to fix it. 

His hands are shaking so much he almost doesn’t catch the little blue bubble that says Louis is typing. 

_**i’m sorry,**_ Louis says again. _**i can explain.**_

**__** _please._

It’s another minute before the next text comes through. It drags on and Nick’s heart nearly stops a dozen times. 

_**can we meet for coffee tomorrow ? the little cafe across from the club.** _

Nick doesn’t need to ask which club, there’s only one in London as far as he’s concerned. It’s the shitty student one they met at that night ages and ages ago, and the tiny cafe opposite where they spent so many lazy afternoons. 

_why should i?_ He doesn’t send _are you going to break my heart again_ but his fingers twitch on the keyboard, itching to ask. 

_**i need to talk to you,**_ replies Louis. _ **please.**_

Louis doesn’t beg, ever. 

_meet you at 3._

Louis is late. He’s always late, but he’s late enough now that Nick’s worried he’s not going to come. It’s a bit rude, especially since it was Louis’ idea in the first place. He orders another cappuccino and picks at his croissant until it’s in tiny pieces, ripped up by fidgety fingers. He’s too nervous to eat properly, but the coffee made him anxious and jittery. 

Fuck Louis and fuck everything. Fuck fuck fuck. 

He’s gathering his things, an hour and a half from when they were supposed to meet, when someone clears their throat. Nick looks up and it’s Louis with his hands in his pockets and a fierce expression. 

"Thought you weren't going to come," Nick says and Louis kinda shrugs. 

"Thought I wasn't going to either.” 

“You’re the one who invited me here,” he tells him, a bit angrily because Louis was late and it was his idea and Nick has avoided this part of town for _years_ because of everything that happened. 

But Louis takes a deep breath. He’s absolutely terrified, Nick realises, and that makes him scared as well. 

“Sit down, I guess,” he mumbles. Louis hesitates for a second, but he sits opposite Nick at the tiny table. Their knees bump each other and it takes everything in Nick not to lurch away at the touch. Louis puts his hands on the top, inches away from Nick’s croissant, and doesn’t look at Nick. “Why’d you come, then?” 

A muscle in Louis’ jaw works for a moment. “Because I said I would. I wanted to see you.” 

“Why _,”_ Nick presses. Louis finally looks up and they watch each other for a long beat of the heart. And even with everything, Nick feels more safe and settled than he has in a while, here in this moment. 

Louis shrugs a tiniest bit, the beginning of a smile creeping across his mouth. 

“You asked me a long time ago to call you when I came home for good,” he says. Nick nods. “And, well. I found out that home is where my husband is.” 

Nick stares at him, long enough for Louis’ eyes to go wide with worry. “You’ve got a girlfriend--” 

“Broke up with her. A while back, actually.” 

“Then why--” 

Louis gives a strangled kind of laugh and shakes his head. “Cause I was _scared,_ dammit. Why else, why ever else?” 

“But I’m not your husband anymore,” Nick says dumbly. 

Louis bites at his lip and fiddles with something on the table. "I kinda'd like you to be."

Nick feels a bit like he’s been hit by a bus, overwhelmed and not able to breathe. Maybe the wind’s been knocked out of him, can that happen with words alone? 

“Nicholas?” 

He rubs at his arm, fingers brushing against the tattoo whose twin is on Louis’ ankle. Tracing the lines, the glances up and sees Louis staring at it too, a desperate look on his face. Something clicks in Nick’s head, 

"At least take me to dinner before you propose," he says, managing to smile. A slow grin spreads across Louis’ face, matching Nick’s, but he still looks scared out of his mind. Nick is scared too. There's no reason for either of them to think it'll work this time around.

But it hurt without him. It hurt so much without him. Maybe Nick owes it to himself, to them both, to try and work this out again. 

"I can do that," answers Louis. "Anywhere you like. We can do that.” 

Nick smiles a crooked smile, sliding his hand across the table so it bumps up against Louis’. "Yeah?"

Louis hooks their pinkies together and Nick’s heart sparks at the feeling, jumps with something that feels like hope. They have a tonne of shit to figure out, to argue over and settle, but right there, in that moment, nothing else matters but their fingers twisted together and the beaming smile on Louis’ face.

"Promise," Louis says. 

 


	8. coda: hoping for the shore

**[coda: hoping for the shore // nick // 2017]**

It does not go smoothly. There’s too much baggage, too many unsaid arguments and leftover wounds to go smoothly, but they’re both stubborn, obstinate people. They make it work. 

Nick’s on eggshells for a while, praying he doesn’t do anything to make Louis leave. He couldn’t bear going through that again. 

Just like before, they don’t tell anyone for a while, but it’s because they’re worried it won’t last. It’s like they’re suspended in a world separate from everyone else, a secret no one else knows. It didn’t go so well the first time, but they’re older now. Wiser. 

They fight and they make up and it’s _hard,_ dammit, but sometimes Nick catches Louis watching him fondly and it makes Nick’s heart swell in his chest.

 

“The night I left,” Louis says quietly, so quietly, “I watched you sleep for so long.” 

Nick almost makes a joke about that being dead weird, but there’s a fragile sort of feeling in the air that Nick doesn’t want to shatter. He stays quiet. 

“The moon was full that night and so bright. It lit up the room and made you look like a painting. I watched you for so long--centuries, it felt like-- and all I could think about was how much I loved you.” 

“You still left,” he whispers back.

“Yeah. That was stupid of me.” 

“That was one of the worst nights of my life,” Nick tells him and it makes Louis’ face crumple in pain, but Nick doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. “It hurt so much, Louis. I couldn’t breathe.” He reaches out and brushes aside a piece of Louis’ hair that’s fallen on his face. His fingers linger on his cheekbones, brush over his lips. Louis presses the tiniest of kisses to the tip. 

“The worst day of my life was when I got those fucking papers,” Louis says and it’s Nick’s turn to flinch. “I cried myself to sleep a lot of nights, and got so smashed the next morning. I was drunk before Liam woke up. He had to wrestle the vodka away from me.” 

“Louis.” 

“I know I acted like shit, but I tried my hardest to keep you. It was a fucking disaster but I tried.” 

Nick rubs at his eye and gives a watery sort of chuckle. “God, we’ve fucked each other up, haven’t we?” 

“We did.” 

“Fuck,” he says, and Louis tugs him in for a hug, both of them wrapped up in each other like nothing else matters. Nick can feel Louis’ heart beat steadily against his and it’s calming, it’s warm. 

“I want you to meet Freddie, soon. Next time I go to L.A.” 

“What?” 

Louis pulls away a little so he can see Nick’s face. “My son. I want you to meet him. Is that… is that okay?” 

If he’s not careful, Nick’s going to cry again. “Yeah. That’ll be-- that would be amazing.” 

“Thank you. I thought you wouldn’t want to.” 

“Bullshit. He’s your son, Lou. Course I want to meet him.” 

Louis studies him for a minute and nods, pressing a kiss to Nick’s cheek. Nick turns his head at the last minute and catches it on his mouth, pressing his hands flat against Louis’ back. Louis sighs, deepening the kiss and shifting so he’s on his back, pulling Nick closer, closer, closer. 

It’s not the first time since they’ve gotten back together, but it feels different somehow. Monumental, like they passed some sort of test. It feels real. 

Nick straddles Louis’ waist and sits up when they need a breath, tracing the curly words inked across Louis’ chest, careful and light. Louis watches him with an unreadable expression. 

“Did you get this cos of me?” Nick asks, very quietly. 

“Not everything is about you, Nicholas,” Louis answers in a way that Nick knows means _yes._ Nick thumbs over the last _is_. 

“A reminder,” Louis says finally, “that I can't change things. It is what it is.”

“C’est la vie.” 

Louis snorts. “Sure.”

“You changed it, though. In the end.”

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, his eyebrows pulled down into a frown. After a second, his brow clears and he tugs Nick down for another kiss, one that tastes desperate. 

“I love you,” Nick says. “Always have.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Louis says fondly. He spreads his hands across Nick’s arms and thumbs at the tattoo there. “But I love you too.” 

 

And it all works out, just like Louis promised. 


End file.
